


The Iron Prince

by noisystar



Category: Hellboy (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Golden Army
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:30:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8889127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noisystar/pseuds/noisystar
Summary: Agent John Myers unwittingly awakens a being that should have been dead. This leads him through a series of events where he must choose between betraying his friends, or betraying the trust of someone new - while the survival of an entire race hangs in the balance.





	1. Nuada Silverlance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gryvon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/gifts).



> Check out the Goodies chapter for a song playlist we made for this fic, outtakes, and a draw.

A brutish thumb traced an unrefined caress over his jaw. Eyes, the color of jasper, enigmatic and glowing, sealed off as lips softened under his. 

Affection had carved that memory, but it now twisted brutally in John's stomach.

A hand ruffled his hair, an annoying but welcome distraction. Agent Akio strode ahead, calling over his shoulder to John with some playful reprimand for standing around with his head in the clouds. John could not argue; Akio was right. John flattened out his hair as he joined the crew departing their division’s _Cessna 172_ aircraft, the _Antarctic Angel_.

The vast, mysterious beauty of the new scenery provided a welcome relief from the persistent memories of Hellboy. Their 'breakup' - for lack of a better word - had been over two years ago, and still he had been unable to fill the void that the loss had left; his loneliness curdled undisturbed for those two years, left in the barren tundra of Antarctica where dating apps like Tinder only made you realize moreso how isolated you were.

The BPRD forensic unit had arrived at the Giant’s Causeway in Northern Ireland. Columns of chiseled rock struck into the air, sizzling beneath the crackle of rain and forming the unique stairway from sky to sea that made the location a natural wonder. The fuzzy pinks and stringy blues of the native flora were striking along the comb-patterned beach, fallen like jewels lost from a broken necklace. There were tendrils of green that curled like disembodied tails in the gray sand and burping frogs that stuttered along the crevices. They appeared eerily bright amidst the faded rocks, giving the scene an unearthly, patchy glow.

They were at the site of the defeat of the Golden Army. Of course, the defeat had happened years ago--the forensics department was just now getting to it, thanks to the typical backlogged nature of the government bureaucracy.

“Check out these frogs,” Agent Nichols said as their unit picked their way through the numerous creatures. “I thought only invertebrates and birds and shit lived on the land here. Swear I read that in one of the debriefing docs.”

 “Frogs are the least of what is strange about this place,” Agent Kazah replied.

John had a leather-bound notebook in his hands, much good it did him. There were procedures for these missions, and John was adamant that it would be done properly, all boxes checked. “Lauderman, take the boundary with Nichols - Kazah, you and Akio should lead the SSM"-- Sweep for Salvageable Material--"...Or, you know, just wing it,” John muttered, realizing he might as well have been talking to himself as the others went about the job heedlessly. “As usual.” He flipped the book closed, tucked it under one arm and tailed after the squad, most of whom were chattering about the latest TV shows to hit Antarctic airwaves. 

In the usual way of things, John ended up on his own along the pebbly beach, marking off his own boxes. Above, the sky was silver and seemed tired of light, and he found himself squinting despite the lack of sun. He came towards a protruding shape of rock, where the amount of frogs seemed tantamount; it was incredibly strange how little space his feet had to step as he approached the mound. John paused, glanced up to check the proximity of the nearest agents--they seemed to be focused on their own little investigations, but close enough--before proceeding.

There was something unnatural about the mound; it wasn’t even the unusual, tomb- or coffin-like shape, or the way the shallow bits of ocean seemed to carefully float around it without touching. What stuck out the most about the conglomeration of rock and moss was its faded color, grayer than the already dusty sky and beach; it was as if within the mound was the source of the colorlessness. As John stepped gingerly closer, he noticed that the increasing fog in the middle of it was actually a hollowed-out center, reaching back. He held his hand over his weapon as he walked into the cave.

At the back of the cave, with the outside gray-light just barely hanging onto the fog enough to illuminate, was a human-shaped figure, confined in the rock.

Hastily, John dug a flashlight out of his kit belt and clicked it on as he cautiously ventured inwards. Cold moisture glistened on the human-shape, matching the chill on John’s cheeks.

The _Unknown Subject_ looked like something that had been melted outside of the earth, alien. Its body was dark, iron-colored, and specks of reflected light hovered around it as if unable to touch. It was barefoot, frozen fabric hanging loose down his legs, a sash fastened around his waist with a relaxed twist. Long hair fell, looking impossibly like frozen oil, from the man-like figure’s head as it hung from defeated shoulders. John found himself trapped by the specter, his body bringing him closer without conscious thought. He longed to peer into the man's eyes, to discover what might pulse within a body that looked like it had been sculpted after a Greek god. He leaned closer, finally close enough to see a defect in the sculpture. A scar wound across the nose and cheeks, reminding John oddly of the West Side Line train tracks by the apartment he had in New York, disused and broken. 

His breath came out as warm vapor, collapsing into tendrils on the Individual’s chest. Curious, wondering if it was merely a stone effigy, John brushed gloved fingers over what turned out to be real hair.

The eyes opened. John gasped, flinching back. The _unsub’s_ eyes were the impossible color of a starlit black hole, solar systems made entirely of still-dying ash and resting in the dark sills of his face as if protected relics. 

“Who -” John hesitated, thoughts rippling against each other - he should be putting his weapon between himself and the _unsub_. “Who are you?”

The _unsub_ tilted his head, and the plates of the brow drew together, perpetuating confusion.

Then, the stone tomb shrieked, severing around the _unsub,_ cracks striking out across the wall with every twitch of muscle. John yelped, boots scraping over rock and then over nothing as he fell.

The _unsub_ ’s arm burst from its craggy bindings, knuckles grating as fingers laced into John’s collar, catching him in the air. John flailed, dangling, for only a moment, before there was another wrench of stone; he saw a flash of shock in the _unsub_ ’s molten eyes before his arm seemed to give way, allowing John to drop to the ground.

The _unsub_ pried the rest of himself from the wall, shards of stone showering down. John ducked behind his arm, cringing against rolling dust, until the _unsub_ was standing free and he felt the murky gaze crawling over him.

Sense finally seemed to flow through his veins, and John hastily pressed the distress signal on his radio, retrieving his handgun and pointing it up from where he was sloppily seated. “I’m an agent with the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense -” John recited confidently. “You will be taken into custody for vetting and evaluation, until such time as..." He stilled as the _unsub_ tilted his head, the effervescent black in his eyes welling to intrigued spheres.

The _unsub’_ s voice wafted through regal lips, like rustling feathers. “ _Human - "_ He said it with severe distaste, the offense of the word so strong there was a short pause of recovery before he continued. “How is it that you have brought me here?” Carefully, the  _unsub_ looked down at one of his arms, interest piqued by its appearance.  

“Myers!” The white beam of a flashlight swung across John before leveling onto his face, and then climbing to the being behind him. “The hell is that thing?” Agent Kazah was already cocking her gun as she marched forward to get a good shot.

 John protested as the _unsub_ suddenly grabbed him by the collar, hauling him tohis feet. His grip was surprisingly gentle. John was reluctant to fire the gun he had pointed at the creature, but his apprehension was gaining ground. He was the good kind of agent, the kind that de-escalated a situation, not the kind that killed mysterious beings before they displayed murderous intent.

“Do not follow, Human, if you wish to breathe tomorrow.” The  _unsub_ spoke to Kazah rigidly; not one muscle in his stone-like body looked gentle now.

John panicked, unwilling to risk Kazah’s life. He also knew she was a shoot-before-you-ask-questions kind of agent. “Agent Kazah, don’t!” he warned as she drew closer.

“Are you crazy? I’m not leaving you,” Kazah said without taking her eye or gun off of the iron man.

 _The unsub_ , with seemingly great effort, pitched John to the back of the cave. John's head bounced off of the wall, blaring. As the stars faded in front of his eyes, the _unsub_  bent creaking knees, straining, and then leaped into the air and soared towards Kazah, spraying gravel behind him. “WAIT! STOP!” John yelled, forcing his eyes to open, peering through the blur of pain to aim his own gun at the ground beside Kazah’s feet and fired. Kazah jumped in surprise, falling as the _unsub_ struck down beside her. John spit a sigh, struggling to get to his feet, still reeling.

“It would be too much to ask of a Human, to feel patience... and respect fear." The _unsub's_  voice stuttered like boulders capering down a choppy path. He reached down for Kazah.

"Respect this, creep!" Kazah cried, swung her gun up and pulled the trigger.

With inhuman speed matching the crack of the gun, the _unsub_ dashed out of the way, the bullet shattering the rock wall behind where he had stood. At the other side of Kazah, he towered over her, haughty and menacing.

“Don't hurt her!” John demanded scornfully. "I'll go with you." He stepped carefully forward. John noticed the gun moving in Kazah’s grip as she scrambled to stand--knowing Kazah, she wouldn’t give in, she would keep going until she got the upper hand, or was defeated herself. “Mia, don’t fight him. You won’t win.” He had seen it before--agents hardly stood a chance against unknown creatures of legend like this. She showed no signs of relenting, which John should have expected. Resigned, with one eye shut tight, knowing a massive swelling was forming on the back of his head, John lifted his gun with both hands and pointed it at Kazah. "Play it smart, Agent. You're not going to win this time," John said sternly as his throat clogged.

It seemed to take all of Kazah’s willpower to keep herself from attacking. She was breathing heavily and leaned against the wall with such tension that she seemed to turn into throbbing stone, her eyes quivering on John until she was unable to bear looking at him. “We’ll come after you,” she hissed.

The iron being bowed his head, seemingly satisfied - though it appeared to be more out of a sense of fatigue than mercy. “You have chosen well, Human,” he said vehemently, turning to John. “You have earned another day for your friend.” The _unsub_  then grabbed John once again by his collar, John gasping softly from the fresh smarting of his head. The _unsub_ easily wrenched the gun from John's grip, tossed it to clatter across the ground. He returned with John to the wall where he had been suspended, splaying his hand on the rock face.

Suddenly John was shaking, as though his fear had decided now to show up all at once; _what was he doing?_   John looked back at Kazah with a silent plea that she remain behind. The edges of John’s vision were dissolving to static, the figure of the iron being a surreal nightmare, the world trembling around him - but the trembling felt too _real_ , and then John realized that the world _was_ trembling. He looked frantically around, loosened shards of cave clattering around him, and then saw that there was a door opening in front of them. Tremors of both fear and of the earth rattled through John--although years in the BPRD had exposed him to much more than magically-procured doors--as the iron being turned beckoning eyes onto him. 

Voices of more agents filtered in, boots stomping towards the cave. John spun, gaze falling desperately to Agent Kazah. Then there was a clamp on his arm - John gasped, biting off the noise as he was yanked back, and suddenly he was stumbling after as the iron being charged with him into the cold dark of the cave. The last dregs of light were eroded away as the world was closed off behind them.

Scrambling in the iron being’s claw-like grip, John could do nothing but follow blindly, his breath coming quicker and shallow as a result of both panic and fatigue. It could not have been very long that John was following the _unsub_ , but it felt like at least a sluggish hour with the cold that was seeping into his bones. Eventually everything felt numb.

The cavern eventually opened up with light; fuzzy loam spreading from the floor up to where it clung to the ceiling. John looked around with what little awe he could spare; they must have ventured into one of the many pockets of paranormal energy in the world. His appreciation for it was overturned into dread and discomfort as the temperature plummeted.

John panted, voicing the cold realization that gripped his heart with nausea. “Are you going to kill me?" John asked with the stoicism he had learned to meet the idea of death with. Suddenly the iron being came to a dead halt, rounding on John; he felt the rush of air as black hair groped his face like ghostly tentacles.

“Heed my words, _Human_!” He spoke ‘human’ as if it were a warning, his voice as cold and dark as the cave, high-pitched in its fervor. “I am Prince Nuada Silverlance.”

There was wild suspicion in the way the _unsub_ ’s eyes glinted at John from their crevices, as if John had done something of endangering affront. John could hear the anguish in his voice, his shuddering breath; but John was stuck on the name. _Prince Nuada Silverlance._

“ _How did you awaken me?”_ Prince Nuada Silverlance spat, digging his nails into John’s wrist. “To what end does this benefit you? Why have you torn me from my death?” His voice streamed from his dried lips like tears; he sounded on the edge of choking. After a second’s thought, he continued with renewed obstinacy, “Did I not die?” He stared at John, addled.

John swallowed. He didn’t want to think about what would happen once Prince Nuada realized he could not give him the answers he wanted. He almost felt embarrassed; this creature seemed to think that John knew what he was doing.

“ _Answer me, Human!”_ Prince Nuada demanded, desperation constricting his voice. He forced John back against a rocky wall; John flinched as bladed stones dug into his back.

“ _You died!_ ” John hollered as he recalled the debrief regarding the defeat of the Golden Army, and of Prince Nuada. “According to the reports, you died! Your body turned to marble, and crumbled--I don’t know how you’re alive - Don’t know how _I_ awakened you…” John forced the words to claw themselves out of his dry throat. “Something happened… When I touched you. It happened when I touched you,” he repeated himself, gaining confidence.

Nuada’s eyes continued frisking John as if a vulture ensuring its carrion was real; his teeth gripped against each other, mouth wrought with disbelieving fury. “You are but a _Human_ , the lowest dreg of the Earth,” Nuada pulled John by the wrist and flung him into the center of the cavern. John stumbled, managing to stay on his feet despite every bone sweating itself dry of blood and marrow. Nuada began to circle John, his blackened eyes rolling beneath the haunted bridge of his brow. “How did you bring me back? What magic have you stolen to accomplish this?” He lunged at John and forced his clawed hand into John’s jacket.

Something flared between them at the contact, some kind of energy that mitigated further protest from John; he gaped, terrified, at Prince Nuada, the skin beneath Nuada’s touch sizzling with something he could only describe as painless electricity. He had thought it was some kind of magical attack, but the squint around Prince Nuada’s eyes, the guarded flicker of confusion, suggested he had felt it too, and was just as surprised. The pain in John's head and back mysteriously seeped away.

“What is this?” John fumbled for an explanation before Nuada roiled forward; “Where is your amulet? What talisman have you rendered to your destructive whim?” Nuada growled as his hand felt its way impatiently over John’s chest. The sensation only grew, and it was not something John could get used to; he felt himself heating up. It was a strange combination: there was critical adrenaline, his life telling him its good-byes, pleading for a delay in fate but seeing no other option just the same. This was _Prince Nuada_ , the Elf who had nearly defeated  _Hellboy_ \- how did John, even with his extensive combative training, stand a chance? Amidst thoughts of his mortality, there was some surprising, life-sparking thing, the thing that was utterly inexplicable. Then, there was the small, strange nostalgia that seemed to fill his head with a foggy, floral scent and dreams of meticulous moments with school crushes and first loves.

John had to swallow a knot of tension in his throat, the spasm of panic diminishing under the realization that Prince Nuada was not as confident as he professed. John felt himself blushing, his eyes craning from the clouds in his head to reach into Nuada’s. Then Nuada suddenly swept away, having found nothing in the space between his hands and John’s chest. There was a scrape of iron skin over stone, and the next John knew he was flat on his back, blinking up at a severe grey face as his spine smarted. The panic was back, John flinching as he expected a crushing blow; but Prince Nuada only stared at him with that dark, inquisitive look. Reacting on instinct, John flung his body over, swinging a leg into Prince Nuada’s ankles - but connected with nothing.

Prince Nuada landed lightly on the other side of John, his lips curling softly with the most minimal of intrigued, resentful smiles, partially shuttered by long strips of the hair that had fallen against his face.

Something about that smile--smug--and not to mention the lack of choices John had regardless, goaded John to scramble to his feet, working to shed his coat. The cavern was quiet save for the echo of John’s panting and the sounds of his boots scuffing over the uneven ground as he rushed Prince Nuada, fists brandished. He had thought he would face death with quiet resolve--apparently, he would go out fighting. An earnest battle cry pulled free of John’s throat, a release of frustration for his unjust predicament, as he swung for a punch, but John looked hastily up as Prince Nuada flowed, untouched, around him. John spared little delay; he vaulted another punch at Prince Nuada.

He missed every time. The frustration was only augmented, that John was helpless, a hostage, at the disposal of this supernatural being’s whims. But now there was a meager breath of sweat, hot and damp, building under his arms, chasing away the dire cold, and Prince Nuada seemed pleased enough with John’s fruitless efforts. 

Prince Nuada was a flickering grey thing, an apparition, appearing in and out of John’s vision. There was an instant John lost all sight of him, even in turning about, and then he felt a gentle, paralyzing touch of breath behind his ear, which preceded the feathery press of hands on his hips. It was too soft and unobtrusive, like the misleadingly silky brush of poison ivy. 

“You Humans lack all semblance of balance,” The words coursed around John’s head, voice as nimble as the individual himself standing behind him. Before John could wrench around to show this beguiling fellow a thing or two about balance, Prince Nuada cocked John’s hips into a different alignment. John gasped in a moment of terror, his eyes wide as he found himself still in one piece - John had expected an offensive maneuver of some kind, not helpful correction, and again there was that melted-electric jolt. Nuada leaned his lips against John’s ear and said, thoughtfully, “If you had pilfered any sort of magic, you couldn’t have possibly been stupid enough to overlook this weakness.” John saw the flash of Nuada’s eyes in his peripheral as he looked him up and down. “You would have known to enchant a correction to your equilibrium as a priority.” He scoffed; it sounded like nonsense, but John wondered if Nuada was merely trying to convince himself of John’s innocence. 

Regaining himself, John drove his elbow back, but it was as though there was an invisible barrier that kept Prince Nuada an impenetrable few inches away from any attack. Spinning, John fell back into the routine; he punched, Prince Nuada flowed effortlessly just out of reach, as inscrutable as a reflection spread over rippling water.

Compelled by a moment of desperation, beginning to tire, John threw himself bodily at Prince Nuada once he had materialized into a full image. This time, Prince Nuada did not move; he seemed caught in a breath, as if he was actually becoming fatigued, and this seemed to surprise even Nuada. His hands sprung up at the last minute, but it was too late - John's fist caught the Prince's nose, and a spurt of liquid was released from his nostril. Stunned, John stood with his mouth open, knuckles hanging in the ensuing sting of pain. Nuada reached up to touch his nose, exploratory. What leaked from Nuada's nose wasn't blood, and what John had struck was not skin and cartilage - he was indeed made of some kind of stone, although it had felt layered and malleable and shockingly delicate, and his blood simply looked like liquid iron.

A vigorous grin spread itself beneath Nuada's seeping nose. John saw his gaze track slightly down his face, and John impulsively touched the space beneath his own nose; it was bleeding. When he looked beyond his red-tipped finger back to Nuada, it almost looked like he was smiling out of embarrassment, of desperate confusion. Seeming to realize the exposure of his expression, Nuada charged, enveloping John’s fists with his hands. Then he was maneuvering John’s own weight to press him up into the air; John felt the earth slipping out from under his feet, saw Prince Nuada ducking underneath him, a flash as their eyes locked. John flew in an arch over Prince Nuada’s head, floating at the guidance of the hands wrapped around his.

When John came down, unprepared, Prince Nuada tugged him in, spun him until his arms were pinned across his front and his back was pressed against a solid chest. John felt a quickened breath ruffling through his hair, as erratic as his own. Suddenly, the spar had been flipped into an aggressive sort of dance, and as the moment stretched on--enough for John to begin to catch his breath--John found himself sinking from anxious to uncomfortable in the iron arms. 

At first, John thought it was his own heartbeat striking so terribly through his body, as if his heart was attempting to abandon ship; then he realized it was Prince Nuada’s chest pulsing against him, his heart beating heavily in rhythm with John’s.

Finally, Prince Nuada relinquished John, and John shuffled, ungainly, turning shakily to face Nuada. The 'blood' from Nuada's nose had already dried. John's knuckles no longer felt as if he had just punched metal. The Prince seemed to steadily pry himself from whatever dismal notion had compelled him to end the spar. It must have had something to do with the phenomenon of their contact, the in-sync beating of their hearts that troubled Nuada so.

“You astound me in a way no Human has," Nuada announced, "though you are unremarkable in every other respect.” John felt a tinge of insult despite the icy stiffening of his body while Nuada closed in on him, his head hanging over John’s face like the sun collapsing over the horizon.

"Gee, thanks," John's voice rose out of him, surprising himself. It felt like he had just had a sportmanly brawl with a schoolmate.

“I see that there is nothing you hide. For now.” A long, pointed nail trailed down John’s cheek. The energy of this mystery, the plunder of the supernatural, was thrilling, although the realness of it still sank John's stomach. He was excited, unbelievably and in spite of the threat that his heart might stop, to be so near this body of perfection, to feel that this extraordinarily-adorned being was drawn to him.

“ _Ah!_ ” John gasped; Nuada had nicked his cheek. He felt the cool trickle of blood turn nearly to steam against his hot face, watched the same of Nuada's cheek, as though through a mirror.

“We seem to be brought together by some unwitting parallel of fate. I feel only able to redeem what power I once had when you are near,” Nuada whipped his black hair behind him, a stone-straight column of muscle. “When I drew away from you to attack your friend, I felt weak.” He admitted this as if it were a sword he were tying over John's head, holding it above him like a threat. He was now turned from John, contemplating the circumstances aloud as if to himself. He then fastened his gloaming gaze, solidifying over John’s eyes like a crust. “Be warned, you betray me, and you will die.” Nuada paused. "Tell me your name.”

John was irresistibly drawn in, mind fumbling to understand what this had meant, what kind of contract he was unwittingly signing. “John Myers.”


	2. Death

_Aogbàs._ In King Balor’s last words, he had sentenced the Prince, and in those same words, had given him his final title. _Aogbàs_ \- Death. His sentence was as Death-bringer, although he had not dreamed of it then; the fate of his sister and of himself, and of his entire race, was now his to hold. He was _Aogbàs,_ he was Death, and he could no longer hide from it. It was as bold as his iron skin, his half-dead body. But Death had one shackle--a Human, whose life was bound to his, for what purpose he knew not.

Prince Nuada led John through the cavern and eventually to a _Cruinne-Doras_. A World-Door. It was made of goblin-forged gold and adorned in a variety of verdure and blossoms that sprouted from the door’s enchanted seals. It was one of the many doors that the Elves had used to travel the Underground; this one brought them from the caves of Ireland to the sewers of New York.

John Myers hesitated, appearing unsatisfied and cautious, clueless. Nuada studied the Human as they traipsed the wet tunnels. He had pale, unblemished features and enormous, dark eyes. Humans were curiously like the Elves, but only superficially so. As Nuada dug into those eyes, he only found the reflection of his own shadow. If he were to cut through John Myers, he wondered if he would find blood, or if he would find only mirrors. For now, it seemed the Human’s interests were enough to keep him following Nuada of his own will. Nuada would be able to dispose of the Human when the time came, either once he regained his former self or had done what he could for his Race.

They emerged from the sewer into the polluted illumination of the Human’s night. More Humans throbbed on the streets like hollow slugs, thrashing about between their skyscrapers and cars. Nuada felt John Myers watching him closely.

“Where are we going?” John Myers asked; he sounded suspicious, careful.

Nuada answered. The disgust he had for the Humans, milling about like mindless, disease-belching machines, was draining his patience as they walked quickly through the streets, and he found himself almost welcoming the distraction of John Myers’ somehow revitalizing presence. “We are going to where I dwelled here, when I was forced to live among you as I searched for the crown of Bethmoora. There, perhaps I will find answers.” He brandished his repugnance without pity.

Nuada’s grace was not what it once was, now that he bore iron skin; he billowed through the crowd of Humans, but one lecherous specimen stumbled against him, staining his iron skin with its dying secretions.

“You _foolish beast_!” Nuada gasped his gnarled voice through his teeth, instinctively reaching for a sword that was not there before raising his empty hand to strike the creature.

“Stop!” John Myers’ voice cried through the thick of Nuada’s odium. His arms wrapped around Nuada’s, staying him as the offending Human dissipated into the crowd, crying over their shoulder, " _Hey, fuck you, weirdo!_ "

Nuada turned on John Myers. “How _dare_ you!” he writhed. As he looked at John Myers, his eyes fell on the cut that adorned both of their cheeks. He paused, troubled and seething. John Myers stared boldly back at him.

Nuada forcibly removed his arm from John Myers’ grasp, then twisted his fist into the sleeve of John Myers’ coat, pulling their faces close.

“I will not harm you,” Nuada finally admitted. “I am disturbed by this bond we share, but accept it as a necessary if I am to bring about the renewal of my Race. In Death, I must bow. But now, Death has chosen me as its bringer.” Nuada looked at John Myers severely.

“What do you mean?” John Myers asked stubbornly.

A deep frown bled through Nuada's mouth like a molten scar. The humans kept coming around them, feasting their skin on his, their profane buzz ruining his ears. He would not hide from them the deaths that they deserved; he would not hide, he would not stop. John Myers stared at him, and in his eyes Nuada saw the concern, the tremble that reminded him of his father's frayed eyes. Nuada shut their strangeness out, disappearing behind the iron blackness.

John seemed to notice something was deeply troubling Nuada. John grabbed Nuada's arm and tugged him out of his disturbed trance, ushering him forward. "Okay, let's just get to... uh. How much farther until we get to - your place?"

Nuada did not answer, already having lost his patience. Instead, they continued walking briskly through the city streets, and John Myers did not press further, and they eventually came upon a less populated area of stretched-thin alleyways. He felt John tense beside him.

There was a scream within close proximity. As they passed a narrow lane, footsteps rushed at them. Nuada observed a Human at the other end of the alley they passed, falling to the ground and emitting a painful noise, with a smaller Human standing beside them - a child. A third ran from the two, one hand clutching a bag, and the other a knife dripping blood. The Human tumbled into John, who braced himself for the collision. The human turned a panicked, deranged face up, and the hand holding the knife came up, pointed towards John. In that moment, Nuada decided to expel his rage and to satiate fate's blood-thirst; drawing strength from the intimate vicinity of his unthinkably Human ally, he snatched the knife from the Human's hand and drove it down, the blade splitting skull and cerebral matter. 

Black blood extinguished the cobbled rocks around where the human fell, John stumbling backward as the body slid from him with a last, choked howl. Nuada saw the hanging reflection of his silhouette in blood.

John's eyes were as wide open as his mouth, a noise of shock sputtering from his throat. His arms remained outstretched, wavering, as if he meant to  _help_ the dead creature.

"Leave it." Another Human dead was another blossom saved, another tree allowed to grow, another animal left alone. Nuada was meant to bring Death to the Humans, yet as he turned to John Myers, whose face was pale and gaping, he was stricken with guilt. 

John seemed to look without comprehension, as lost as a child, up at Nuada. He hesitated, and he was shaking with the Human fear of a close brush with death. But there was another notion that seemed to surmount it; "Is - Is this what you meant? Killing people?" John said.

  
The human at the other end of the alley was sobbing for help, their child staring through shadow. The noises drew John Myers' attention, and he looked towards them as he clutched at his head, distressed.

“Perhaps you knew my full name: Prince Nuada Silverlance. I am now Prince Nuada Silverlance _Aogbàs._ Death. I am Death.” He looked with pity upon John Myers, feeling the strangeness of their bond, the feeling of kinship that now convoluted his hate. “I am sorry, for you are cursed.”


	3. A Plan

John could feel the air pressing down on him, squeezing the insides of his ears. He was in shock; half of himself was attempting to claw its way to sense, to understand what he had just witnessed, what he had been a part of. The other half struggled to remain ignorant, wondered if it was possible to stay in the dark.

Prince Nuada had murdered a human being in the middle of the city. Then he had taken John by the cuff of his sleeve, and they had disappeared while blood ran cold on the street. John had been conflicted, at first; the mugger who had come at them would have tried to kill John himself, had as good as killed the person in the alley - so did he _deserve_ to suffer the same, in return, and did John have an obligation to carry out that justice? Nuada had seemed so remorseful, genuinely sorry, when he apologized to John, as if he was apologizing for his very nature, his inherent drive to destroy humans. Nuada had a sense of right and wrong--he must--and he was struggling with that as much as any human, as much as John struggled with the question that, if he were faced with the same choice, would he murder a murderer?

And would he murder an entire race that was murderous by nature, kill any possibility of the birth of another murderer?

A subway train rushed by, striking John with goosebumps. They were in a chamber surrounded by graying, once-bronze walls. What appeared to be vases of hanging light were currently swinging dead from the center of the ceiling. A decorated archway spanned the width of the chamber, turning green. There were strange objects strewn throughout the room, which must have been hidden from any other humans' eyes; there was some type of silver cauldron, a pile of glistening gold straw on the floor, multiple pedestals with different trinkets on them. In the center of the room was a pedestal decorated with a motif of golden ivy.

Nuada studied his former room, appearing to be searching for something, his gait carrying him to the pedestal.

John watched him, and wondered - did Nuada realize that he, too, was a murderer? Was that a concept for Elves?

Suddenly, a strangled, exasperated cry careened out of Nuada’s throat, reverberating through the walls and all of the artifacts within, resounding as menacing dissonance; John forced himself back against a wall by the door, frantically wondering if he could slip through without the Prince’s notice, finally his mind agreeing with his body that he needed to escape.

John followed Nuada’s gaze. There was a stone embellished with a carving of a sword, lying against the wall as if it had fallen from its perch, probably shaken loose by the passing trains, that had a single blackened crack straight through the center; it struck through the sword, breaking it into two slivers. As Nuada was distracted from him, out of the corner of his eye, John noticed a spear leaning against the wall not too far from him. Struck with the opportunity for survival, John inched closer to it, his attention flickering anxiously between it and Nuada.

“ _No_ ,” Nuada groaned. It sounded as if his rage was faltering beneath a building sense of powerlessness. Within the fear that this raging, mystical creature instilled in John, he felt a timid kind of heartbreak; it was like watching an animal cry of unfair suffering, having only known innocence.

John had no idea what the significance was of the sword talisman, but he could tell it held a dear value to the Prince of the Elves; on top of that, he could physically, mentally _feel_ the Prince's distress. It was as if he was feeling it himself. However, even as he found some empathy for the Prince, John realized he was within arm’s reach of the spear. He could grab it easily, and with Nuada so distracted by whatever the cracked stone represented, he felt it was possible to gain the upperhand. His hand twitched as he considered his freedom. Then, Nuada’s head rolled, his eyes dropping onto John. “ _You,”_ Nuada ushered the sound from his lips like steam spewing from a volcano.

An abrupt gust of black wind, Nuada spilled away from the pedestal, darting to John.

“Why is it that you  _Humans_ claim license to lay _waste_ wherever your apathy hungers?” John watched as Nuada’s fist flew up, twisted into the front of his coat. “ _You,_ you _Humans_ , have done this to me... My own, my  _Claíomh Solais,_ the Sword of Light, is destroyed... What have I become...” Nuada’s voice waned and his eyes threatened to blanch as he dropped to his knees. Nuada’s fingers unhitched from John’s coat, his hands falling, and in an impulsive reaction, John fumbled for Nuada’s arms, inclined to catch him as he fell - but the gesture faltered as he bent, stricken with misgiving. John stared with piercing inquest, looking from Nuada to the broken sword. Either it was really some fateful omen, or it had just fallen as a train had rumbled past the hidden room. Or both.

“How cruel, how effortless your murderous intentions were…” Nuada’s voice tangled in the curtain of hair that fell over his face. “You enslaved our minds, and with your deceitful trickery, fooled my Father into bending down to you… And even Nuala… I had no other choice. _You_ gave me  _no_ other choice, but to become  _this..._ to lose everything that was Light...” It was as if he was experiencing all those losses all over again.

John looked upon the grieving Prince, crushed. As evil as Nuada was, he was the Elves’ only remaining leader - and John remembered the other agents talking about how close the Elves were to extinction, and himself thinking about how sad it would be for the world to lose them, but he hardly knew what the Elves were really like. John left the spear untouched and pushed himself off of the wall, leaning towards Nuada. Nuada peered up at him through his collapsed hair. His eyes flickered towards the spear, realization dawning as he looked back to John. The realization became confusion, and something like disbelief wrought angry lines in Nuada’s iron flesh.

“Iwill _NOT_ have your pity!” Nuada yelled, flinging himself up at John. John scrambled to avoid being pinned and failed; he slammed onto the floor. Nuada had both palms planted on either side of John's now pounding head, his body hovering over him like a dangling sword. “It was your kind who took the Elves’ Prince from them, and regret will serve no remedy,” he said as if wrangling a convincing argument. John panicked beneath him; at this proximity, he could see the wet twinkling of stars in those vast eyes, those bottomless pits.

Nuada's fingers slowly traced around John's throat, pressing in. John cringed in Nuada’s grip, squeezing his eyes shut and searching for any kind of hope he had to cling to.

“You Humans must suffer, as I have suffered,” Nuada said, aggrieved, a dark blanket floating over John. As he touched him, John thought he might be experiencing Nuada's memories; the loss, on such a grand scale, and the defiance of his own pride.

“Prince Nuada,” John grasped for something that might convince Nuada to spare him. "It's - it's not too late... you... you still have... a choice," he winced as he spoke, knowing he was treading in dangerous waters, feeling helpless, but keeping his eyes stoically on Nuada. "You're still here, and as long as you are... you have a choice." John reaffirmed as Nuada stared back at him. "You... you don't have to let this... this hate... define who you are. Your choices... that's what makes you who you are." It sounded incredibly cheesy, but these lines had helped him out of a life-threatening predicament before.

“You cannot possibly understand, I _had no choice,_ ” Nuada etched through torment, choking on the dejected dreams of what was supposed to have been his vengeance on the Humans, once again reduced to hiding in the holes. Nuada looked down at John with a terrifying bitterness, one that made John's adrenaline flow openly, swearing to his body and every last animal instinct inside of him that his survival would now end. He would die.

Those same instincts dredged up the energy to throw his weight into Nuada, shoving him off; successful, somehow, John flipped over onto his stomach, facing the spear. He grabbed it with sweaty hands, feet slipping beneath him as he forced himself to stand, whipping around just in time to point the spear at Nuada.

The blade scraped against Nuada’s stomach. Nuada stood, frozen, a petrified and blackened tree, peering at him thoughtfully.

After a beat, Nuada exhaled a shuddering breath. “I accept my fate,” said Nuada. He almost sounded relieved.

“No,” John panted; he hadn't realized he was short of breath. He looked shakily down at the spear. “I mean... I think you deserve a second chance." John gripped the spear tightly, knuckles sweating. The feeling he had now--the tense, life-threatening balance, that there was something bigger he could be fighting for--was familiar. He swallowed, and in his throat swelled the memory of his last mission with Hellboy, Liz, and Abe. Although ultimately, he had failed Hellboy, he had at least succeeded in that moment: he had helped Hellboy when he needed it most. He had managed to keep his promise to Professor Broom, at least then. It was Hellboy who had forced him away after that, eventually transferring him to Antarctica. Now, John had the chance to stay. He had the chance to see things through with someone else--someone different--who needed his help.

John released the spear, discarding it. Nuada’s face fell while his eyes widened. John observed the strange amalgam of emotion, feeling fascinated despite his own dissipating strength, the uncertainty of his survival, like he was plummeting from the sky, unable to remember if he had a parachute and hoping to God for the best. “The Elves didn't deserve that. Humans can do better.” He looked grimly at Nuada, resolute. “But you have to give _us_ a chance, too," John said emphatically. "Humans can make bad choices, but then we learn how to fix them. To make better choices. And... and I think this is your chance, to make a different choice.”

At this last sentiment, Nuada’s previously wondrous expression distorted, vile. “We gave you that chance, and you spit on us.”

John, in spite of everything his instincts were telling him, grabbed Nuada’s arms. “I wasn't here then,” He demanded, with a sudden earnest that bordered on ferocity. “Let me help you. You said we were brought together for some reason, didn't you? Maybe this is it.” It felt unreal and unnatural to be talking to a mystical being like Prince Nuada like this, but he supposed he should have been used to it. Even if this one had a homicidal record.

Nuada looked into both of John's eyes as he struggled to keep them level. “If you will not kill me, it would do you well to _fear_ me.”

John’s grip hesitated as he realized the propensity of the gesture; but he had found purpose in being Prince Nuada’s ‘companion’, and even as his hands slid away, he remained steadfast. “I know,” John choked. Nuada surprised him with the slow movement of his arm; his hand reached John's cheek, and John resisted the urge to pull away, staring at Nuada in awe. John’s breath hitched, but instead of coming with scornful roughness, Nuada’s thumb gently caressed his skin, over the dried scratch, his hand gradually sliding underneath his jaw.

Under the soft fall of Nuada’s brow, the guarded frown, John could see a plague of confusion, stalling him. When Nuada’s voice finally came, it was defensive, wary, but pathetically hopeful. “You wish to help me, Human?”

John held Nuada’s gaze, his own sincerity affording him that much confidence. “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? You felt… you felt it, too…” John’s voice drifted into speculative, as he dared to acknowledge whatever uncanny sensation it was between them when they touched, something he couldn’t explain--however new it was to Nuada, he wasn’t sure. But as John peered at him intently, searching for validation to his suspicions, Nuada looked stunned. So it was true - there _was_ a reason Nuada had taken him, and kept him alive. “I can help. You don't have to go through another repeat of what happened with the Golden Army.” John felt like _this_ could be his purpose, _this_ was why he was assigned to the BPRD. Maybe there was more to life than a 9-5 and eventual wife and kids. “Let me help you, your--uh, Prince.” John stuttered with the awkwardness that had been bubbling since their weird sparring match.

Nuada’s hand seemed to drop dismissively from John’s face, but as John flinched, the palm splayed before him. “Your hand,” Nuada breathed, the air of his words simmering on John’s face like the yawn of a hearth. Now utterly estranged from any element John could consider himself familiar with, he raised a shaking hand to mirror Nuada’s. Reaching forward, Nuada pressed their palms together. There was a friction unheard of to John that manifested itself, as if they could both be made of electricity. Nuada’s hand had the solidity of an old monolith, with the warmth of a molten heart trapped inside. His fingers curled precipitously over John’s, moving as a force of nature, with the suddenness of a flash storm. The intensity with which Nuada’s gaze flickered from their joined hands to John's eyes was fraught with that enduring confusion of emotion; as though Nuada longed to reject whatever bond was drawing them together. A knot of empathy curled into John's throat; that expression in the Prince's face was remarkably endearing.

Eventually, the inner turmoil seemed to fade into reservation. Nuada said solemnly, “We will find Nuala.”  His eyes fell from John’s, and John could sense his anguish.

It took John a moment to emerge from the trance he had fallen into. “You mean the Princess of the Elves? Your sister?”

“My twin,” Nuada corrected. He looked up at John, struck by a thought. “You are a Human of what is called the ‘BPRD’. Do you know of the one called Abraham Sapien?” 

John was a little disjointed at what seemed to be a sudden change in subject. “Uh, yes, I knew him.”

“This Abraham knew of my sister in a depth that no other being had reached, save for myself. We must find him.”

John thought for a moment, his hand feeling sweaty in Nuada’s unmoving grasp. “Well, he doesn’t work for the BPRD anymore. He left. I don’t know where he is now.” Nuada’s grip tightened. He was clearly unsatisfied with this answer. “But--Liz Sherman. She might know where he is. I think I can find her. She had left the BPRD, but she’s back with them now…” He felt regret in mentioning her name; he did not know what kind of danger he had just put her in. Yet, the hand that held his felt strangely safe, or maybe he was just foolishly hopeful this wouldn't all turn out to be a death sentence.

“We will waste no time. Find Liz Sherman. Bring me to her.” Nuada's hand slipped softly away from John’s hand. His eyes connected with John’s. “ _John Myers.”_


	4. An Alliance

Shrill cries, devourers of atmosphere, bloodied the night; cacophonies of tactless architecture yawning and screaming as humans flowed in and out and over them; not one sanguine star could be seen, the sky a ruined canvas of blemished orange stains. Life sprung only where humans forced it; a feeble tree here and there, a blink of grass, unnoticed by their insatiable eyes. The humans themselves ran about, distracted, confined in their own heads. All but Nuada’s own human, who had brought them to a community gathering place referred to as a _Library_ , and was now sitting at one of the gargling, glowing machines called a _Computer._

“Okay,” John said, closing out a _Web Site_ with the title BPRD DIRECTORY. “We need to go Upstate. That's where Liz’s address is.” His gaze traveled down and up Nuada’s form, doubt drawing on one edge of his mouth. “The only way there, other than by plane, is the train,” John said, his lips pursing in a peculiar line that suggested bleak amusement as he took stock of how someone who looked like Nuada might be received by the Humans on their route. There was the faintest indication of anxiety in the collapsing of his brow, his eyes shifting.

“That is fine. We will take a train to this Upstate.”  

The train was one of the devourers Prince Nuada so detested. However, he had no other option, without knowing Upstate and the whereabouts of the Agent Liz Sherman’s home. John seemed to be holding his breath as they boarded, negotiating in some way with the guard of the Train, and only relieved his breath once they happened to come upon a mostly empty car. The time confined within it provided space for meditation - since his awakening, Prince Nuada had not paused for breath, and his fate as Death was depleting. John, too, had followed without relent, and it was only as Prince Nuada looked upon his sleeping form slumped peacefully in the seat next to him that he remembered the Humans’ fragile stamina. A question, bitter to his mind and thus far scarcely confronted, emerged from where it had been haunting the quaking foundations of his reasoning; how had this Human affected him so, brought him here, and caused him to question his morality?

Prince Nuada drifted to the moment John Myers had summoned him back to life.

He had grown bitter over the years he had been in his self-imposed Exile; as it had taken its course, it had only exacerbated the wounds that he had been left with since the estrangement of his father and dearest sister. The Humans, as inconsequential and negligible of a stain as they were, had somehow conquered what was as breathtaking and forbidding as the Elves and the rest of their legendary world. It was due to the Elves’ unrelenting magnanimity, and the Humans’ inclination to conquer what would never be theirs. As the Elves had screamed, floundering, beckoning for their Mother Earth to outlast the hatred it suffered from Humans, struggling with voices fading and unheard from throats that slowly disintegrated from use, the Humans but proliferated their ruination. They continued to kill heedlessly. They knew nothing of Nature, and nothing of mercy.

So waking upon the touch of a Human was against everything Nuada stood for. It bade ill of his blood and of his ancestry; he was tainted and had succumbed more completely than any. He had sworn himself to the slaughter of all Humans, as they had slaughtered the lives of the Elves, more horrifically and slowly than any torture he had come to know.

He recalled the bewilderment--fear--that welled as the vision of a human filled to the edges of all senses. His mind had spun to answer the human’s inquiry; John’s voice: 

_‘Who - who are you?’_

He had been Prince Nuada Silverlance. But now, he was only half of his former self, and until he could reconnect with Nuala, he was bound to this Human. When he had been challenged by the one called Kazah, his strength had failed him. It seemed to be the presence of John Myers that allowed him any power at all. When he tested his skills against the Human in their sparring match, it seemed to confirm Nuada’s state: his abilities were only near what they once were when he shared a connection with John. 

When Nuada had trapped John against him, and their heartbeats had fallen into a united rhythm... it was... _nice_.  _No._  It was _debilitating,_ it was _terrifying_.

The Humans had done this to him - how could he feel anything honeyed and sweet from one of _them_? They had made him weak, extracted his strength, and only with the help of the demon Hellboy, for alone they could not have accomplished such a feat. He was merely at their absent mercy - at his John Myers’ mercy, and could only continue plunging, flailing into the slight possibility of exploiting this mercy until he was whole again. Whoever he was now, he would have to make anew, and he had _no choice_ but to depend on the Human John Myers.

Within the mechanical creature John had called a _train_ , the might of Nuada’s body seemed burned of worth, the edges of his muscle searing, degraded as he looked upon the ashen-colored skin stretched over a starved bicep.

He stared down at the now sleeping Human as he lay in the seat beside him, with all of the accusations that mankind deserved, and he reveled that this one had looked at him with fear. Mouth open, awed and terrified, a tremble in his soft eyes, smudges of dirt collecting on cheeks that otherwise resembled youthful petals.

Fear - that was all he should have wanted from any Human. Fear and revenge.

But then, Nuada found himself fixated on the hint of rose in John's cheeks, in the tip of his nose. The feathering of his eyelashes, the sweet innocence of him as he slept.

Nuada drew a sharp breath, straightening against the rattling wall of the train, looking out across the plains they passed. He was no fool to the nuances of emotion, and he could not deny the feeling he had allowed himself to fall victim to as he looked upon John Myers. Here he was, in spite of all he had ever been, what he was as second half to Nuala, in spite of the name of his oath and his purpose; now he knew compassion for a Human.

“Okay, it’s a few miles walk this way,” John yawned once they had disembarked the train, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the peacefulness of a mandrake buried safely in its clay.

Prince Nuada looked ahead to the journey before them, and then was drawn back to the pathetic Human countenance of his John after an abandoned, lone brick had caught his eye. “John,” Nuada uttered, his voice footsteps through crisp, fallen leaves.

“Yes?” John answered carefully.

Nuada suddenly swept to his knee; inspired by the crumbling brick, Nuada scooped it in his hands and offered it up to John.

“Uh--” John blubbered in confusion.

“As a token of my current alliance with you, John Myers, I, Prince Nuada, Silverlance, offer this. Conglomeration of clay, a _symbol_  for Humans, their passion for…. Creation,” Nuada said. “You may miss these things, as it is in your nature. But I offer it to you now, as I offer my allegiance in our joined quest.”

John stared down at Nuada, who met him in a sincere gaze. John swallowed, digesting the gesture. “Okay,” he said. “I, uh, accept.” John reached out an open hand, which Nuada looked at for a moment, and then set the brick in John’s hand with a faint plopping sound. “Thanks,” said John weakly.

“Your face has reddened, as if burned,” Nuada pointed out with concern as he straightened. He reached out and touched John’s face carefully, lingering, as if he had been searching for any excuse to touch him. “Does this hurt?” He said, eventually.

"Uh! No!” John replied, obviously nervous, twitching under Nuada’s touch. “I’m fine, that’s normal…”

Nuada nodded. “There are many things I do not understand about your Race,” he said with the incredible seriousness of all he held against the Humans. “But I have a reason to desire an understanding of you,” he said quizzically, almost as a thought to himself rather than to John. “You are a specimen I have not yet viewed of the Humans, through all my years of observing them. You intrigue me.” Nuada said this with the passion of his species, accustomed to holding wisdom of all Earthly matters while being confronted with the spectacle of the unknown.


	5. Liz Sherman

John had severely underestimated the distance between the train and Liz’s house. The instructions he had extracted from her file with the BPRD were vague at best. They had been dropped off somewhat nearby, the train having brought them to an estranged part of Essex County. After they traveled a good few miles by a concrete path, they plummeted into the confusion of the forest on the roadside.

At least a half mile into the forest, probably more, John finally saw the peak of a rooftop between the trees ahead. As they approached, the house emerged from a small valley, tucked between the fall leaves. It looked like a wooden cottage, quite homey, with a chimney that remained cold and unused despite the cool weather. The closer they got, the more apparent it became that this was indeed where Liz Sherman resided. There were numerous spots of blackness in the ground, entire perimeters that had been burned up. Blackened leaves and ruined tree stumps became more and more frequent the closer they came to the house. John hesitated when he saw the charred remains of what appeared to be a child’s doll. John found himself suddenly worried about what they might find when they knocked on the door.

John indicated Nuada to stand back at first (which, surprisingly, he obliged without protest) while he stood in Liz’s doorway, waiting for an answer. At his knock, cries burst out, startling him; there seemed to be an awful lot of banging about, and then there was Liz’s voice. “ _PLEASE CALM DOWN! Both of you!”_ The noise stopped. There was a tired sigh; “Thank you.” The door opened, and there was Liz, generally the same as John had remembered her, black hair chopped short around a pale and lined face. She had what appeared to be soot on her right cheek.

She gaped. “ _JOHN?”_

“H-hey, Liz! Long time no see…”

“Uh, yeah. How did you _find_ me?”

“Well, uh, I knew you still worked for the BPRD, and I work there, too, so, I was able to look you up on file,” John explained nervously.

“Why would you do that?” Liz asked, her distress clearly building as she crossed her arms and leaned onto the door frame. John had been hoping Liz would be happy to see him--so happy, that she wouldn't care about the weirdness of him basically stalking her, at least at first. He should have known, Liz was too cynical for that. 

John sensed the need for some prompt damage control. “Look, Liz, I really need your help. I just came here to ask you one question.”

“Huh, no kidding,” Liz replied, not without suspicion. Suddenly, two small children came bursting from behind her legs. They screamed, running about with arms flinging in the air.

“Whoa!” John exclaimed. “Wh--wha--” He looked up at Liz, who confirmed what had to be true with her typical, flat-browed gaze. “You had _kids!”_

“Yep,” Liz replied hurriedly, watching with concern. “Twins. Who is that, John?” She had noticed Nuada as the kids ran towards him. John paled in horror; he had no idea what Nuada would be capable of when confronted with human children. He doubted Nuada had any more compassion for them than he had for adults. “Tell him he needs to be careful around them. Hey! You!” Liz shouted, shouldering past John and striding towards Nuada and her children. “Watch out!”

John turned to watch, unsure of what he could possibly do to prevent the worst from happening. As the children flocked around Nuada, he knelt down to their level, peering into their bouncing faces. Then, he raised a long, clawed hand, twisting his fingers into a fist----the fist opened as he brought it down before the children, and within it, a flower bloomed, releasing a small shower of glittering pollen.

“Wow,” Liz stopped in her tracks. “What kind of company have you been keeping, John?”

John, relieved, stuttered in reply. “Well, uh, he’s someone I kind of… met…”

Liz raised her eyebrows, interrupting him with the edge of a teasing smile. “You _met_ someone?”

“Not like that!” John laughed nervously. “He just needs my help. I was hoping you could help _me_ help _him._ ”

Liz seemed distracted as she watched her children with Nuada. “He looks really familiar…” John hesitated, unsure what to say. “Is he fireproof?” she asked flippantly. 

“What?”

“Fireproof. Is he immune to fire?”

Before John could ask why, a burst of flames came from one of the kids’ mouths in the swell of a hiccup. Instead of incinerating Nuada’s hand, he expertly whisked it away. John finally noticed the long tail curling from the mouth of one of the kids' pants. 

“Wow. He’s better with them than Hellboy was,” Liz divulged in her usual gloom.

“Hellboy?” John asked, then knowing that he should have realized from the beginning. “They’re Hellboy’s.”

“Yep,” Liz answered, looking at John sympathetically. John looked at her, and realized--Hellboy must have told Liz about the relationship they had, that they had never spoken of to Liz, in part because Hellboy had also been seeing Liz at the time, and also because Hellboy and John had never put it into words even amongst themselves. It was the reason Hellboy had John transferred to Antarctica; John had threatened to tell Liz, and without any warning or last words, the next thing John knew, he was being put on a plane.

John looked back at the house. He could now see that the house was made of concrete and merely painted to look like a cabin. He could see cracks, inconsistencies, places where the surface had worn away and deteriorated. He could see where the seams had been bound together, forced together, but had still eventually separated, revealing black creases in the walls. He looked back to Nuada and the children. Nuada seemed to tolerate the children very well. He even seemed to be enjoying their company, innocently. He felt like there was substance there, feelings that he could explore, a possibility revealing itself to him: there was _something_ going on between Nuada and him. A bond, one that transcended themselves, maybe represented a salvation of the relationship between Humans and Elves. There could be something in pursuing it, whatever it was. Watching Nuada with two children, the way he accepted them and interacted with them so serenely--John was stunned, hopeful.

“Hellboy couldn’t handle it,” Liz vented, a shuffling loneliness in her voice. “He just couldn’t handle being a father. Well, he couldn’t handle being with _me.”_ She looked up at John stoically. “It just wasn’t meant to be. We both knew it. We just didn’t want to believe it.” She smiled at John like an old friend. He felt warmed that she still felt like she could confide in him - even if it was for lack of anyone else to talk to. “He’s working on it. Being a father, I mean. Being there for them. It just takes time. And I do believe in him.”

John smiled back at her, carefully raising his hand along her back. She responded by leaning against him, and he hugged her.

“So, have you heard from Abe lately?”

“Not really,” Liz answered as she leaned on John. “Last I heard, he was helping Johann with his research. It’s a place in Mount Shasta, you know, one of the supernatural hot spots, home of the Lemurians.” She shook her head at her own presumption as John frowned, puzzled. “Oh, you never met Johann. Dr. Johann Krauss. He’s… a character, grows on you.”

“Oh.” John paused. “Listen, Liz… I need to tell you something.” He wasn’t sure if he was crazy, but he felt like she needed to know.

“Mhmm?”

“That man,” John swallowed. “It’s...  Prince Nuada.”

Liz froze, all easiness wiped out of her. “Are you _serious?_ What the FUCK, John!” John hastily tugged Liz out of earshot, simultaneously gesturing wildly to keep her voice down. Leaves and twigs snapped underfoot. “You let him near my _kids?_ I know what he’s capable of! He almost _murdered_ Hellboy! He was going to kill ALL OF US! And you brought him HERE?” Liz yanked her arm free of John’s ailing grasp, furious.

“No, wait!” John warned, too late as Liz spun to march towards Nuada and her children. 

Yep, he was crazy for telling Liz.

Her arms snapped out to her sides, fire springing from clawed hands and raking up to her shoulders. Liz’s eyes became engulfed in a fiery flare, hot fury, as she boomed; “ _Get away from my children!_ ”

As the twins turned up astonished smiles to their mother, Nuada looked up, face darkening with disfavor. Poignant, his eyes slid to gaze upon John, and he unfurled to stand at his full height. John flailed for action; everything was happening too quickly.

“Kids, get over here,” Liz demanded, voice crackling, as she faced Nuada.

“ _Liz_ , hold on, he just wants - "

“SHUT UP, John!” Liz wailed, her terror turning into wrath, climbing up into towering plumes of flame. “YOU have put my kids in danger! Nuada’s _brainwashed_ you! KIDS, I said MOVE!” Licks of flame arched out, Liz trembling as she fought to control its expanse.

Nuada was still staring at John, statuesque, cold. John hesitated, because despite whatever reasons Nuada had for keeping John with him, he _had_ attempted to kill his friends, _had_ murdered many people along the way, and had nearly unleashed an army for the purpose of wiping out the human race.

The twins had finally wandered to their mother, and then trotted past John and to the house, speaking to each other in a language of their own, too young to understand the cause of her anger. “ _You should be running,_ ” Liz warned John. She sounded on the verge of tears; Liz had seen what Nuada had done. She had been there for it all.

He could have cracked under Nuada's gaze, gone to him - but John had to help Liz.

He hurried after the kids, stooping to usher them into the house. “C’mon, let’s go inside,” he coaxed, and when he turned to close the door he saw Nuada fixing him with a steely leer, eyes completely shuttered by shadow descending from his brow. _Oh God, what was he doing?_ But Liz was turning into spitting fire, slithering, arching flame; John quickly pulled the door shut, slumping against it as he struggled to regain his erratic breath.

The explosion came shortly, cracking through the house like thunder, roaring over all else; John could only see the twins screaming in awe, but could not hear them until a moment later when the turbulence ebbed away. John scrambled to a window, panting as he clung to the sill; outside, Liz stood alone in the middle of a paved circle, drops of fire lining the clearing. John’s heart was suddenly racing as he realized he was panicking, seeing no sign of Prince Nuada. He darted to the door, opened it as Liz was stomping towards the house, her expression fierce with rage. John looked beyond her, stumbled off of the doorstep, looking frantically around for a sign of the Prince; but Liz went straight for him, snagged the collar of his coat in her hand and shoved him back into the house.

John reeled back, thumping down onto the floor as Liz closed the door and demanded; “John, there is something wrong with you if you’re trying to help that monster. You stay here, I’ve got to figure out how to get rid of him… Ugh, I need to call Hellboy.” She groaned, frustrated.

“What - he’s not gone?”

“ _No_ , John, Nuada’s a powerful Prince of Elves,” Liz said, condescending in her anger. “He disappeared, and until I see a pile of Nuada dust I’m going to assume he’s alive. And now I’ve got to look after you _and_ my _own_ kids.”

John sighed, climbing to his feet. “Liz, it's not like that. He’s trying to save his race. Frankly, humans do the same thing for themselves. Prince Nuada and the rest of the Elves deserve the right to live freely just as we do, they've been oppressed for hundreds of years and Nuada only wants to fix that.”

Liz narrowed her eyes, shook her head in disbelief. “Wow, John. He really has you wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he? Nuada lost that right when he killed people. He _killed people, John._ ”

John was beginning to grow frustrated himself, looking away as he fought irritation. “I don’t expect you to understand him. Heck, I don’t even understand... _what_ is going on. But what I do know is that he deserves a second chance. I think I can help him, Liz, and you’re not going to stop me." 

Standing sentinel in front of the door, Liz splayed one hand at her side, a glimmer of fire at her fingertips. “You’re not in your right mind John,” Her voice quivered. “I can’t let you leave.” Her opposite hand slid into the pocket of her sweater, and John hesitated, watching as she pulled out a cellphone.

Recalling her intention, John shook his head. “No, no you can’t call him, _Liz -_ “ He started towards her, reaching out.

“Stay back, John!” Liz demanded, and as fire spouted threateningly up her arm John stopped, cautious, calculating how to get passed her as she swiped her thumb over the phone screen. Then she pressed the phone to her cheek, and John could hear the deep crackle through the speaker; “ _Hey, Liz._ ”

John started to duck in--Liz was distracted now, he could get to the phone before she said anything important--but then there was a deafening shatter, a window bursting into shards in the adjacent kitchen. The twins screamed in delight while John stumbled forward into Liz, bringing the both of them to the floor.

Rolling off of Liz, John looked back to see a black figure stalked into view, glittering sunlight reflecting off of a floor of broken glass, making him glow. He carried a thin tree branch in his hand like a weapon.

“This is something I will never understand of Humans. Their hunger for lying and betrayal.” Prince Nuada said softly, his voice grim. Liz was hastily climbing to her feet, but Prince Nuada was quick; he hurtled himself into a flip, crossing the room in an instant and sticking a landing with the branch crushing into Liz’s chest, pinning her to the floor. She struggled, grunting in desperation, clasping fiery hands onto the branch. The stick wrenched forward, striking Liz’s jaw, then spun in Nuada’s hands to drive its blunt point down into Liz’s clavicle. She choked, dazed from the blow, her fire waning as Nuada prepared another strike.

John could not bear to watch - he cast around for a helpful object, and in patting his coat he found the shape of his leather task book. Hastily, he drew it out, rushed to Nuada and smacked the book across the back of his head. He staggered after the book connected, meeting the widened eyes of Nuada as his head turned. 

“ _Liz?_ ” The phone buzzed on the floor. “ _Hello?_ ”

“Daddy!” One of the twins cried, holding back the other.

Nuada spun the stick into John, a shocking amount of power behind it, enough to shove John several meters back and off of his footing. Nuada cracked Liz’s head with it again, before taking off back towards John.

John held up his hands, looking regretfully from Liz. “Prince, _just hold on a minute_ \- “

“ _Quiet_ , John Myers,” Nuada growled, hauling John up by the scruff of his collar, dragging him in. “Your friend has cost us dear time. You will bring me to Abraham. If you refuse, I will find your friend again, and I will kill her.” Nuada’s lips hovered over John’s, the threat in his eyes unwavering. He hung onto John, stepping back through the shattered glass, John stumbling along, and returned outdoors through the window.

John blinked in the late morning sun filtering through many trees, surrounding them, crisp autumn chill chasing away the heat of the skirmish.

Nuada was not stopping, and John panted as he looked back to the house. “But you - you could have killed her,” John said, hopeful that Nuada’s mercy was a sign of healing.

Nuada jerked John forward, turning on him. “John Myers, you have disappointed me. I now know more than ever that Humans have overstayed their welcome on this world. And you will always,” he uttered, voice brimming with his own breath, eyes tumbling over John, “despite your many efforts, be a Human… and therefore, will never be worthy of trust.”

“Hold on, Prince,” John said, struggling against Nuada, “I wasn’t trying to - let me - explain!”

Nuada was unaffected by John’s wriggling, his hold on his collar remaining steadfast. “We have little time to spare, do we not, John Myers?” Nuada twisted his head, smiling with horrific disdain. “Or did you not instruct your friend to call Anung un Rama on me?”

John paled; it looked bad, and Nuada had recognized the voice echoing from Liz’s phone. “N-no, that was a misunderstanding, I didn’t, I _swear._ ”

“Your swearing means nothing.” Prince Nuada said, the cold ebbing from his voice, and suddenly his fingers were sliding delicately along John’s frozen cheek. “If you wish to redeem yourself, you will not struggle.” Nuada sounded as if he was making a joke, as if he had no intention of allowing anything of the sort. “To Mount Shasta. We must go now.”

As Nuada charged through the leaf-stifled yard, John jerked his head back to see the fireproof cabin sinking away behind them.


	6. Sleep

“Please--Prince Nuada…”

“You will not sway me,” Nuada warned. They had been traveling by foot for what seemed like hours, but it couldn’t have been; John didn’t think he had the energy to be walking for that long. They were trudging through the forest, John’s feet often catching on swollen roots and the gnawed thresholds of animal hollows, each stumble clobbering away at his energy with blunt force. Finally, John fell, tugging himself out of Nuada’s grasp. The weight newly released from his legs was a respite, even if there was now a pounding in his head.

“ _Stand_ , Human!” Nuada demanded.

John coughed as he narrowly lifted his face off of the ground, spitting dirt and leaves. “Nuada, I can't, I'm tired! Are you really going to hold this grudge against me? After all _you've_ done that I've forgiven? After I betrayed  _Liz_ for you? She was my friend...” He clenched his eyes shut, waiting for another thundering order. When it didn’t come, he slowly opened his eyes.

Nuada had crouched down beside him, his iron-skinned face inches away from John’s. John’s eyes widened, tracing over the hatched mark laid across his cheeks.

“You do not have the strength to continue,” Nuada confirmed. He brushed a strand of hair from John's forehead with a long, thin finger. “I feel it.” It was their connection - whatever it was they were bonded by, it gave Nuada the ability to feel John’s exhaustion. John wondered if Nuada felt exhausted, and if it was the first time he had ever felt that way. “We will rest.” Nuada straightened, and John craned his neck to watch him. He was now holding a long branch he had picked up while he was kneeling. He brought it to lean gently against John’s cheek. “Remember my warning, should you feel tempted to escape.” Nuada’s eyes pierced through the shadow of his brow, the gravity of his gaze causing John’s ears to ring. Despite the threat, John felt as if this was Nuada's way for forgiving him: for trusting that John hadn't betrayed him, however it might look. Perhaps it had something to do with their bizarre mind-link.

As difficult as it was for John to find peace enough to close his eyes, he was so drained of energy that eventually his eyelids were too heavy to remain open. Nuada had helped John to a flat enough clearing with surprising tenderness.

Curling up against the cold, John shivered, pulling his arms inside of his coat. Then, suddenly, a pair of arms was wrapping around him, a solid body pressing to his front. John's eyes snapped open as his nose pressed gently against a warm chest, and he found himself staring at a dark, iron throat.

"This is what Humans do for warmth, is it not?" Nuada said, sounding troubled, his jaw moving faintly against the tangle of John's hair; John could tell Nuada was concerned about his ability to lend John any warmth, due to his iron skin. John shivered--not from cold--and the arms tightened around him.

"Yeah," John replied, too surprised at the gesture to accept it at face value. "It is."

John realized Nuada meant to stay there, and he closed his burning eyes, doing his utmost to calm his head, which was muddled with questions about the strange gesture.

After a moment, Nuada shifted, and John laid there, paralyzed, as he felt Nuada’s gaze stroking along his features as if he were touching them; his eyelids, shining with deprivation; his rounded nose; his listless lips. As dangerous as Nuada seemed to be, there was a tenderness to him, reserved specifically for John. Nuada seemed to feel the need to threaten John because of what he had perceived to be a betrayal, but John sensed that Nuada sincerely meant him no harm.

It was as if the abhorrence that Nuada clung to had fallen away, and in letting go of it Nuada found relief, folding into John with abandon, allowing himself to sink into generous warmth. The foreboding Iron Prince became soft and simple, surrounding John, and their races didn't seem to matter - just that their hearts were beating, thrumming against each other.

The Prince had turned cold to him in their recent moments, projected nothing but distaste for John as his obligatory companion; however, despite his cruelty, John was swayed by the simple innocence of this gesture, this - cuddling. It was this notion that convinced John that all of the soliloquies professing hatred for Humans and John alike were only a front, and that Nuada was much softer of heart than he revealed.

The warm wrap of sleep was closing around him, and perhaps it was that which painted Nuada in a dreamy haze, something to be protected.


	7. Hellboy

Too soon, John felt himself lifted out of what had eventually become a deep, plummeting sleep. His body tumbled from the bed of earth into what felt like smooth branches of warm stone, planting him against a warmer chest.

Air rushed against him, and he was definitely not where he had fallen asleep on the ground next to Prince Nuada. John looked up, squinting until his vision cleared of sticky sleep.

John saw a red jaw, curling with black fuzz, the glint of yellow eyes.

“Hellboy…” John spoke, narrowing his vision as he tried to untangle the world swirling around him.

It _was_ Hellboy, a sudden stroke of red against the night - exotic, even now, after so many years. Feelings that John had forgotten--a prickling heat in his chest, a fluttering weightlessness in his stomach--enticed John to believe it was a dream, and that nothing really mattered except to fall into it, to melt in Hellboy’s arms.  

Hellboy turned a roguish grin down to John and said in response, “Hey Snow White! You’re awake!”

“Hellboy…” John shook his head, attempting to wrest it from the holds of confused hypnagogia. “What are you doing?” He realized he was being carried bridal-style by Hellboy, who was running through trees.

“What does it look like? I’m saving your ass.”

“What? No… Red…” John grabbed his head, massaging the bridge of his nose. Gradually, he was realizing what was happening, surfacing from the dream-like state. “Bring me back. I don’t need saving.” As he came to, the unpleasant longing for sleep giving way to fresh air and awareness, he started to fully appreciate the fact that Hellboy had appeared, out of nowhere, and was here. With him. Finally. But it was a childish notion, one John had to dismiss. He blinked up at Hellboy, who was keeping his eyes straight ahead. “Where are you taking me, Red? Put me down.”

“Why ya gotta play so hard to get?” Hellboy drawled, stopping his sprint. “Maybe you think you had it handled, but you were playing with fire back there. Nuada’s one dangerous tramp.”

John kicked his way from Hellboy’s arms and Hellboy arranged him onto his feet. John wrapped his arms around himself, already freezing outside of Hellboy’s grip. “Where is Nuada?”

“Gee, it’s nice to see you, too,” Hellboy frowned, rolling his eyes.

“Hellboy!” John stammered, and their eyes met; he fumbled beneath that jasper stare, that pent-up vulnerability and rigid emotion. The pain that they had caused him. John caved; “I wanted to see you… For so long…”

“Yeah, why didn’tcha?” Hellboy seemed to realize the fault in his reply as soon as he said it, looking anxiously away.

“Why didn’t I?” John scoffed. “You had me transferred, remember? To _Antarctica._ Where I’m still cleaning up your messes,” he said resentfully.

Hellboy scratched his head, sheepish, his tail swishing over tufted grass. He dragged his hand down the back of his neck as he raised guilty eyes to John, his mouth twisting in a way that suggested he was all too uncomfortable to face that conversation.

“Yeah, I. Uh...” Hellboy grunted, after some silence. “Remember the night after we took down that big ugly pig-looking thug?” As expected, he changed the topic.

John snorted a laugh and then immediately regretted it. There was a lot more to remember about that night, and John wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to play with that fire. “Yeah. I do.” He should not have even given a response to it, but here he was.

Fondness pulled one edge of Hellboy’s mouth into a grin, and he leaned back, his shadowed eyes tilted towards the stars. “The hog’s stomach exploded all over you.”

“Only because you were feeling trigger happy,” John put in before he could stop himself, a cynical chuckle coming uninvited.

There was a pause, in which Hellboy just smiled. “Yeah. That was my fault. But I got you cleaned up before the acid burned through _all_ of your clothes. You, Liz, me and Abe went out after that, to celebrate, or, for the hell of it. Got a few beers in ya and then lit you your first Cuban.”

John picked at a thread on his sleeve, quiet, the two of them enveloped in the night of the forest. He felt Hellboy watching him.

“I, uh.” Hellboy began, the silence an augmenting pressure. “I thought you did pretty good. Only coughed the first few puffs. Took it like a champ.” John felt his cheeks burning, similarly to when they burned filled with that cigar’s tobacco smoke, remembering the way Hellboy had been looking at him.

Hellboy blew out a sigh. “Then it was just you and me, and an old Paul Anka record. I was… just helping you to finish that cigar, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s why you kissed me. Because of a cigar.” John said, and the words jarred through him, raw.

Hellboy snorted a dismissive laugh. The words out of John were a thrill, brought old butterflies rushing back. “Oh come on. I was joking. You know that’s not why.”

John crossed his arms, staring stubbornly down. His face was on fire. “Well, Hellboy, it definitely wasn’t because you actually cared about me. You don't just send someone you care about away out of... I don't know, insecurity. That was not right, Hellboy. You can't run away from bad choices by sending them away. You didn't... you didn't have to send me away.”

Groaning in exasperation, Hellboy dragged a hand down his face. “I sent you to Antarctica because you were going to tell Liz. I couldn’t let you hurt her like that!”

“ _Me_ hurt her? Listen to yourself, Hellboy.” John looked up at him now, imploring. “You sent me away because you couldn’t handle your choice, your mistake. You were betraying Liz, and _I_ was your _mistake_.” Traitorous anguish deepened the creases between his eyebrows for just a moment, before he fell back into his perturbation and out of reach of the looming sadness.

“Now that is not true,” Hellboy protested, stabbing his blocky finger into the sky. “That is _not_ what it was.”

“Yeah?” John sniffed, despising the hope that kept his end of the conversation going. “Then what was it?”

There was grunt in Hellboy’s throat, the defiant edge of a retort, dying before it made it to his lips. He stared around searchingly, groping for the correct response.

After a moment, John looked away, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to ward off the disappointment. Of course, Hellboy had not changed. He shook his head, the weight of this long-buried emotional turmoil a frenzy in his mind. “Alright, that’s it, Hellboy. I need to go back. We had our chat, and you haven't changed.” John twisted to march off.

A set of red, enigmatic fingers hooked into John’s sweater, pulling, and then a body followed, curling around John. John looked defiantly up, glassy brown eyes meeting a pair of yellow that overwhelmed his vision. Warmth was coiling in from Hellboy, sinking into John’s blood, heart spurred into a feverish pounding.

Then Hellboy crushed John in closer, their noses brushing, and John shivered, helpless. This was always how it had been - spontaneous, finally coming home after a strenuous mission, sometimes even in the heat of the mission and covered in the filth of battle, sometimes in the middle of an argument. It seemed to happen whenever they needed it, undefined, precarious. Excitement poured, uninvited, into John, reducing him to the longing he had held onto for the _two years_ that Hellboy had been gone. John's fingers buried into Hellboy’s coat, eyes shuttering closed as everything in his mind went fuzzy and blank. Heat pressed anticipation against John’s mouth before he leaned forward, and their lips met in a desperate kiss.

They parted softly, breath mingling, noses grazing against each other. John shuddered, cringing as he struggled to sort out what he was doing. Hellboy tightened around him, said quietly; “Guess you’re right about one thing... the way I feel about you hasn't changed.” Slowly, John looked up, puzzling, hurt. Hellboy’s tail stroked a path up John’s back, putting a pleasant shiver through John. "It's nice to see ya again, Boy Scout.” Hellboy chuckled gruffly as John blushed. Eventually, John broke away from the promise of another kiss, pushing away from Hellboy and wrapping himself back up in his own arms.

“Is Nuada okay?” The change of topic was jarring, sticky, the kiss haunting his lips. John swallowed, nerves frenzied. “How did you get me away from him?” John went on, attempting to keep focused - he was afraid to learn what Hellboy had done. “God, and, Liz – Liz, is she okay?”

“Look, the guy’s _fine…_ Liz too, she’s tough, you know that.” Hellboy shifted in his nervous way, disappointment a low whine in his voice. “He’s lucky I didn’t do more. For taking you like that.” His hand reached forward, faltered in its path to bring John back in.

“He didn’t _take_ me, Hellboy, I _can_ take care of myself,” John said, just narrowly keeping himself from blurting a jab at Hellboy. “I’m going back to him. Look, don’t follow me.” John looked up at Hellboy imploringly. “It’s been years, and… things have changed. I still… care… about you. But right now, I have something I have to do. And I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of it.”

“You know I can't do that,” Hellboy said, eyes narrowing. "Liz thinks you're brainwashed. I'm beginning to think the same thing."

" _Brainwashed?_ " John scoffed, incredulous. "Really? Who are _you_ to judge anyone's choices? Like you're a shining example of Good!"

"Why else would you be helping an evil undead Elf, Myers?"

"You know what, Hellboy?" John spat, marching angrily towards Hellboy. "I ask myself the same question about _you._ Why did I _ever_ try to help _you?_ "

It came out like a confession that had been waiting too long to be voiced - "I _LOVED YOU,_ MYERS!"

John huffed a loud breath and then froze, eyes wide and full of rage as he stared at Hellboy, and Hellboy stared ardently back at him. Silence crashed down between them, only gradually breaking apart into the chirping of crickets.

Swallowing, John breathed again, stepping back as tension unwound from his shocked limbs. Then, he shrugged, hands clapping dismissively down onto his thighs. "You had a choice, Hellboy, and you chose. And I'm done."

Hellboy shook, scowling; " _Why can't you just - "_

Hellboy was cut off by a voice thick with night. “John Myers. Is this how it ends?”

Nuada was standing between the trees several feet behind them. His iron sheen just barely caught the moonlight that gasped through the trees, his expression a faceless carved-out hollow in the dark. John’s eyes widened at the sight of him; he felt an oddly warming sense of familiarity, a sudden, ridiculous longing to grab Nuada, to wrap his arms around him, to hold his face. He had missed him, if only for the span of several minutes. Nuada made him feel _wanted_ , and was unashamed of it, no matter how conflicted--and _messed up--_ it was; it was something John could have never said about his relationship with Hellboy.

“Prince Nuada,” John breathed, anger melted away. "You're okay."

“Oh, you sneaky _bastard_ ,” Hellboy groaned.

“I am _okay_. For this moment, I live,” Nuada spoke, starting to pace around John and Hellboy. John watched, face falling as the threat in Nuada’s voice coated the air like wax. “As do you. But I wonder, if our connection is anything like the bond I have with Nuala…” he said, raising his hand to brush the curtain of hair away from his chest; he raised his other hand, and in it was a stick that had been sharpened into a dagger. “If my death would also bring about yours.” He looked dangerously from John to Hellboy.

“Dammit,” Hellboy cursed.

“Yes, your precious John still belongs to me,” Nuada prowled. He reached out his unoccupied hand. “Come to me. Or allow your dear friend to watch you die.”

John looked back at Hellboy, and mouthed, stern: _don’t come after me._ He then walked to Nuada, who grabbed him under the arm and pulled him against his chest. Nuada brushed his lips against John’s ear, inhaling deeply through his nose and tickling John’s skin. “You will suffer for betraying my trust.”

Nuada's nuanced behavior was debilitating in its way; he professed to be this maverick creature bent on the destruction of mankind, and yet even in his display of loathing towards John's human state, he treated him with a degree of care, suggesting John was something of delicate value to him. John looked at the ground, features disoriented in sadness, helplessness, frustration. He knew there was nothing to say to convince Nuada otherwise, but it was torture to simply allow Nuada to believe John had lied to him.

“You follow, and he will die,” Nuada warned Hellboy.

Hellboy glared at John, fists clenching, still seething. "Don't have to ask me twice." He turned in a curt ripple of his coat, storming up into the trees. Nuada narrowed his eyes after him, before dragging John along in their continued journey.

As they traveled in silence, Nuada gliding quickly over the undergrowth while John struggled to keep up, John eventually felt compelled to speak.

“Nuada, I don’t think what you _saw_ is what actually _happened…_ ”

“Silence!” Nuada seemed to have been building up his frustration as they walked; the minute John had spoken, at the smallest nudge of Nuada’s patience, Nuada flung John against a tree, throwing himself against him. “How dare you try to deceive me,” Nuada hissed hotly. John winced, the back of his head and shoulders blaring from the blow.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” John replied through gritted teeth. “I _didn’t_ deceive you.”

“Then tell me why you had fled, and why you were conspiring with Anung Un Rama,” Nuada spoke with slow vehemence. John could feel Nuada’s eyes peeling over him like skin curling from a wound. “You are indeed lucky I am in need of your services, John Myers,” Nuada whispered, his mouth hovering closer to John’s. “You are lucky that your friend Hellboy relinquished you so easily. I saw the reluctance in his eyes, the desire. How foolish of him to think he has a chance of marring our bond.” John peered through the darkness at Nuada, trying to discern what he could; he could hardly believe what he was hearing was _jealousy_.

“Seems like you can barely stand being around me,” John retorted, wishing he could reach his aching skin and rub away the pain. “Me being one of _them,_ one of the ‘ _Humans'_ ,” John tried to mimic Nuada’s resentment in saying the word, feeling his own resentment bubbling to the surface. “Why _do_ you keep dragging me along, huh? You really think you can’t just figure this all out yourself? Threaten the answers out of people?” He was feeling oddly gutsy despite the crushing darkness, the smothering isolation in the middle of a strange forest. The anger from his altercation with Hellboy still lingered, and John was tired of not fighting back, of being _used._

“ _Quiet_ ,” Nuada ordered; he seemed unwilling to consider the thought, likely regretting that he could not go without John. “You will bring me to Abraham,” he insisted, his voice fading. John stared, affronted and panting with exasperation, at Nuada, but he was speechless as he saw Nuada's expression soften, his gaze drop to John's lips. John jerked back, sucking in a breath as Nuada pressed in against him, then as he brushed his lips over John’s ear. Nuada was warm, the pressing of their bodies shutting out the cold. Nuada’s hand fell against John’s cheek. “You will do as I command,” Nuada continued quietly into John's ear. His nose and mouth drifted against John’s cheek, brushing him with a breathy hiss. The next words felt tacked-on, an excuse; “and I will extract the knowledge he has of Nuala.” Nuada leaned back from John, his hand trailing down John’s chest. John’s physical response jumped from the carnal desire he had been harboring for Nuada since their first affray, inhaling with a gasp mingling with adrenaline and hazardous uncertainty. By then, John's remaining anger was reduced to a tangle, clinging only at the edges of awkward desire.

Then Nuada's features stiffened, mortification flickering before sinking into a malicious glare. His voice changed, became a snarl of chagrin; “And then our relationship will  _end!_ That is my purpose, to bring the end. I am  _Death._ I am  _Aogbàs."_

John was powerless. As John allowed himself to be pulled along by Nuada, tension rippled from the Prince and into John. The way Nuada had reaffirmed his identity--as Death--it was as though Nuada was afraid to let go of it, as he was afraid to give into the desire that he, too, must have felt.

It only made John weaker for him, the breaking, fragile Prince. Despite himself, despite the logical part of his brain telling him to run as far away as soon as the opportunity showed itself, John was entranced.

There was one thing Prince Nuada was missing about the human condition: humans could find something beautiful in something broken.


	8. Abraham Sapien

The sun had caught up to them by the time they had reached the West Coast, and was dawning over the edge of the snow-capped mountain and powdered tree tops, blurring their colors together in an early morning haze. When they finally found the entrance to the Underground of Mt. Shasta, assisted by a friendly Lemurian who recognized the names Abe Sapien and Johann Krauss, John allowed himself one last, long look at the blooming sky before ducking into the newly formed entranceway. While at first their silent travel through the Elfin Underground had paved a path for overthought on the understanding that had collapsed between him and Nuada, the quiet eventually numbed John.

The tunnels within the mountain were an intricate, glowing labyrinth; there was an entire civilization with shops, carts and busses, and non-human beings of all sorts. Their Lemurian host exchanged words with Nuada that John did not understand, and John assumed they were being taken to wherever Krauss or Abe were expected to be. 

However, the communication between Nuada and the Lemurian seemed to go on longer than was necessary for a simple request of directions. Eventually, the oddness of it jerked John out of his hollow brooding, and he glanced to his keeper's face.

Nuada was... impassioned. Bright, emphatic, as he spoke with the Lemurian. As John watched, perplexed, Nuada even clasped the Lemurian's hand in his, as if to give them reassurance. The Lemurian responded warmly, with a gesture of their own reassurance, nodding inquisitively in John's direction. When Nuada tilted his head to look at him, John was snagged in the humanity of Nuada's expression; shaken, as though questioning himself. Was the Lemurian causing Nuada to question his choices, his spiteful regard for humans, or, at least, for John? John swallowed under that gaze, heating up. There had to be something more than what Nuada was showing him.

Long after leaving the noise of what seemed to be the town center behind, the Lemurian brought them through what appeared to be some kind of a laboratory. There were beakers, flasks, Bunsen burners and instruments John didn’t recognize. Finally, they stopped at a door located at the back of the lab. The Lemurian knocked. Nuada stood to the side, looking at John expectantly, who stepped forward.

The door opened with a precise, careful swing. Abe Sapien stood behind it, the walking fish-man. 

“Hi! Abe…” John greeted, not without a sigh of relief to be in the company of a _friend,_ not yet considering that it would mean more coerced betrayal.

“Agent John Myers?” Abe said in slow surprise. “Red had you relocated to the Antarctica branch,” he recited. “What brings _you..._ here?” Abe blinked his enormous, swallowing black eyes with a moist smack, as he looked John over, genuinely curious. His eyes drifted to Nuada, a taut jump suddenly twisting his brow. 

John pursed his lips slightly, feeling no gratitude that Abe felt the need to remind him of the quick and painful demise of his relationship with Hellboy. “Well… There is someone I am trying to help, Abe.” He sighed, “And… I think we could use your help, too.”

“You’re acting very suspicious, John Myers. It’s quite strange to show up at someone’s door unannounced like this, you know. Are you in trouble?” Abe looked around as his brain was obviously buzzing. “How did you even find me here?”

“Just bear with me, okay, Abe?” John hesitated, knowing that Prince Nuada had once been Abe Sapien’s enemy. “This is a, uh, a friend, now…”

“You don’t seem very certain,” Abe chimed in.

“I’m just trying to help him, Abe. Can you give me the benefit of the doubt?" 

“Of course, I will help you. But first you must tell me, who is it we are helping?” Abe examined Nuada, who stood with a silent stillness.

“Well…” John wasn’t sure how he should answer. He knew that if Abe learned it was Nuada, things probably wouldn’t end so well. He also knew that Abe would be able to tell if he was lying. However, before he could answer, Abe seemed to be able to sense the trouble John was having - and graciously relented.

“Never mind that, John. A friend of yours is a friend of mine. Come on in.” Abe ushered the both of them inside. After he shut the door behind them, bidding the Lemurian a courteous thank you and farewell, he announced, “Dr. Krauss, we’ve got company! You’ll never guess who it is…”

The room they were led into seemed to be the central hub of the lab. Numerous machines were huffing, puffing, and exhaling all sorts of gas, smells, and colors; there were tables with different stones, petrified creatures, fossils, and many unrecognizable things.

“If it is that egregious _homo necrosis_ you insist on keeping as a roommate, Sapien, I assure you, that is always my first guess - ” Dr. Johann Krauss came shouting from behind a large machine, his voice curdling and high-pitched in the mouthpiece of his bodiless suit. “Ah!” he said once he saw John and Nuada. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t believe you do,” Abe replied. “Which is why I said you’d never guess.”

“Ah,” Krauss said as he walked towards them and booped Abe on the nose. “Your games are too much for me, mein _Wasser-Schnecke.”_ Abe giggled, touching his nose where Krauss's finger had been.

John raised his eyebrows. “Well, uh, I’m John Myers,” he said, extending his hand.

“Ah. Dr. Johann Krauss,” Krauss replied, shaking John’s hand. “And who might this be?” he gestured animatedly at the iron-skinned man that was Prince Nuada.

“Uh, this is my friend, and he really needs our help,” John hoped the terse explanation would do.

“Your name, sir?” Krauss asked, turning to Nuada. “Hmm. Very familiar. Please tell me, I can’t put my mind to it.”

John looked anxiously at Nuada; they had gotten this far by John treading carefully, and by Nuada revealing very little. Now, John could see that Nuada’s patience was breaking. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be so close to possibly learning what happened to someone who was as close to him as his sister was, and having such an obstacle keeping him from going any farther. John shook with dread.

“Just tell us - ” John attempted, “do you remember what happened to Nuala, the Princess of Elves who helped you to defeat the Golden Army?” He cringed, almost folding in on himself, unable to keep his eyes from Abe, whose face broke, eyes and mouth falling like crumpled paper origami.  

“Nuala…” Abe uttered; he sounded so far off, and John found himself wondering why Abe looked so devastated at the mention of her name.

“That is where I recognize you from…” Krauss said in a low voice. “Nuala was your sister, eh? Prince Nuada?”

“Oh, fuck…” John muttered. Beside him, Nuada was tensing.

“I _am_ Prince Nuada Silverlance. And I have come here to seek my sister, Nuala.” He grabbed John, once again brandishing his sharpened stick and holding it to John’s neck. John should have seen it coming: no matter what he did to gain Nuada’s trust, he would never accept it. John flinched, regretful of what he had brought Abe and Dr. Krauss into; he stood awkwardly against Nuada, one long-fingered, iron hand clasped around John's throat.

Nuada’s eyes turned on Abe. “You know what happened to her, Abraham Sapien. Tell me now or your dear John dies.”

“We will not be taking threats from _you!_ ” Krauss interrupted, shaking a finger at Nuada as he stepped between him and Abe.

“No! Johann, I will answer…” Abe said, putting his hand gently on Krauss’s arm. Abe looked sternly at John, who was unable to meet his eyes. “There is no need to harm John,” he told Nuada.

“If you are sure…” Krauss replied, his voice still incensed. Abe nodded.

“Prince Nuada, I am not sure you are going to like what you hear. No matter what I tell you, no harm must come to John. He is innocent. I am sure you realize, he is a rarity in the human race. He does not deserve your wrath. He is pure of heart, and has done you no wrong.”

Nuada’s grip on John strangely loosened. He seemed to be shocked by what Abe was telling him.  Still, he kept the blade at John’s neck, and showed no other signs of releasing him.

“Nuala. What has become of her?” Nuada insisted. “I live. So, too, must she.” Nuada’s voice was darkened by his grief and his confusion; John felt a knot twisting in his stomach, wondering what would become of him, should Nuada find Nuala; he wondered what need Nuada would have for him, and what their journey would mean once it ended.

“As much as I would like to believe it is true… I know,” Abe delicately placed his palm over his heart, his fingers following one by one to rest against his pale flesh, “that Nuala is gone.” He looked up at Nuada, the dregs of bitterness welling in his too-dark eyes. “I have no explanation for why you are not.”

“ _No.”_ Nuada uttered, his voice shriveling. John felt an ache in his chest, a coldness between his skin and Nuada’s. “It cannot be true. It is not possible. Nuala and I are connected. If I live, she lives. If she dies, then so do I,” Nuada reasoned, words fast and breathy. The blade at John’s neck shook. 

“If I prove it, will you let the boy go?” Krauss said, stepping forward. Nuada’s head jerked to look at Krauss. “I can prove it,” Krauss assured. “Abe…” he spoke softly, “Please, bring me something you’ve kept of the Princess’s…”

Abe appeared shocked for a moment, and then nodded dutifully before shuffling away.

When Abe returned, he displayed a thick book, a teal hardcover, with the title _The Poetic Works of Alfred Tennyson._ He placed the book delicately on one of the lab tables.

“Come,” Krauss ordered. Nuada pushed the blade so that it dented the skin of John’s neck.

“Do not attempt to trick me,” Nuada warned. Krauss replied with silence as he arranged himself before the book. Abe looked with concern at John, who tried to look as unaffected as he could with the point of a blade making itself at home in his neck.

Krauss undid the point of the finger on his suit, and from it, an ectoplasmic fog emerged. In one long, undulating tendril, it flowed from Krauss’s suit and into the book.

“I am used to performing this with actual corpses, but this should do,” Krauss mentioned gruffly.

Nuada’s grip on the blade faltered as his attention fell on the book. At first, nothing happened. “You said this would prove Nuala is not living? You’ve proven _nothing_ ,” Nuada lashed, reinforcing his grip on John. “How dare you lie, you Once-Human! I could not have expected more,” he breathed vehemently.

“Wait!” Krauss scolded, though not without a sense of distress for the stakes. He tapped on the book. Suddenly, it shook, and then exhaled a cloud of white dust from its pages. “Ah, there we are,” Krauss sighed.

Gradually, the dust formed a face over the cover of the book’s. It was strikingly similar to Nuada’s, although extraordinarily pale with only a soft darkness around the closed eyes. There was the same scar spanning over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Abruptly, the eyes opened; they were the brightest points of the apparition, a glowing white.

“Nuala…” Abe gasped, faltering as if his consciousness was suddenly being torn from him.

“Nuala,” Nuada echoed.

“Brother,” the apparition spoke in a voice like a song from far away.

“Nuala, where are you?” Nuada choked desperately, his fingers constricting around John's neck. John flinched, holding his breath as he tried to make sense of the appearance of Nuala before them while the stick-blade remained fastened to his skin. He felt goosebumps rubbing raw beneath his clothes, the provoked skin on his neck smarting.

“I am gone, my brother.”

“Why? Why are you gone while I yet live? Why am I here?” Nuada cried. John felt Nuada’s body quivering; he shifted, inching closer to the book enchanted with the opalescent garland of Nuala’s face, forcing John to bend with him as he drew closer. John saw Krauss out of the corner of his eye; he seemed to be doing something with an aperture on his suit, betting on Nuada’s distraction. Abe stood beside him, as engulfed as Nuada was by Nuala’s kindling face.

Nuala closed her eyes for a moment. “Do you remember, the moment of our childhood when Father began to demand we spend time apart? Do you remember your first journey without me?”

Nuada hesitated. “Yes.”

“Do you remember the spirit you told me of? The spirit of the lake, who you claimed to be our mother?”

“Yes, I…”

“Then you remember the vision she gave you. The power she gave you, because she feared you were far more vulnerable than I to Death. And she was closest to you, her chosen child, while I was close with our father. But she was lost to us so soon, I think she wanted to protect you, the way Father protected me.”

“It was Mother?” Nuada whispered.

“It was, my brother. She gave you another chance at life, as her last form of protection. She wanted you to live.” Nuala’s voice was compassionate and loving, as if she had missed her brother, even after life. There was no mistaking that Nuada longed for her, and that this forged meeting between the two was bringing those feelings of utter loss to the surface. It was unmistakable in the way he twisted his grip on John; John bit his lip, trying not to call out as he felt the blade dig deeper into his neck. There was a coolness, like his own ghost was trickling down his neck.

“Sister, without you, I cannot live…” Nuada was strangled with grief.

“You must,” Nuala answered. "But... you are not whole, are you?" She said, in wonder.

“Without you, I am not! How can I be?” Nuada asked desperately. Before Nuala could answer, the effervescent vapor forming her face began to fade. “My sister, come back to me!” Nuada begged. 

John suddenly stumbled - in his blinding grief, Nuada's hand had closed tightly around John's throat, suffocating him. Unable to utter a noise, John suddenly dropped in Nuada's grasp, collapsing to the ground - in a flutter of consciousness, Nuada did the same beside him. John’s vision was fading, crackling into dark; Krauss and Abe were moving quickly beside them.

\--

 _Many years ago, amidst the bedlam and clashing of the Races, the resolute Queen of Elfland took it upon herself to trek through the forests that sheltered the mythical creatures of Ireland and into Man’s cities._  

_Her gesture did not end well. There was no word from Man; only the disappearance of the Queen, leaving the King to wonder as he sent search parties to discover what had become of her, her two children too young to understand how or why she was not there to tuck them in at night._

_The search parties did not return. The King forbid any of his subjects from entering the forest again, and attempted to erase the Queen from his memory._

_Years later, the young Elf Prince managed to wander unnoticed into the forbidden forest with his fairy hound. The hound picked up a scent and eagerly followed; the Prince chased after her and they were led to a deep pool. A naked arm reached out and grabbed the hound, dragging her beneath the black water. The Prince waited, but the hound did not resurface._

_As the Prince cried tears of troubled innocence and another scar seared a thick, crooked score through his childhood, the arm again pulled itself out of the pool. The Prince felt something luring him to the terrifying sight; instead of running, he crept close to the outstretched hand, and in seeking comfort, touched its slender, immaculate fingers._  

_A vision befell him, all else blackening around him: he watched himself die, bursting into dust._

‘My son,’ _said a voice that soothed the Prince’s confused consciousness with its sound, permeating through the dark._

_He saw his Sister, who fell backwards into Death’s arms._

‘You may suffer the ultimate loss.’

_From her creamy, marble body, a golden heart stretched, then dissipated in the air._

‘Your bond with your sister may be your undoing.’

_A different, but still a heart-shaped bout of gold, incarnation reformed in the void that had swallowed both bodies._

‘And so, you will receive another opportunity at life. For as long as your heart is incomplete, it will be a half-life, forged of iron, but a life at least, away from Death.’

_The unfamiliar heart illuminated the pile of dust that had become of the Prince, and as the heart shone brightly, from the dust the Prince rose again._

_‘_ A Human, who must prove themselves pure of heart, will provide the other half that your existence entails. The Human will save you, and in so doing, become tantamount in saving your Race.’

_When the Prince woke from the vision, he was outside the forest, with no evidence that he had entered, except for the hound that he would never again see. The vision would continue to haunt the Prince, to comfort him, and to steep in his wonder for many years to come, eventually fading as a distant memory._

**\--**  

The dream fragmented, melting into the blurry mesh that formed between John’s cracking eyelids. He began to depict his surroundings: the wet, blue sheen of Abe’s legs, the brown burlap of Dr. Krauss’s suit, and the iron body beside him.

He must have only been out a couple of minutes. Comprehension dawned, small dots of cold blowing ice through his skin. Following his first instinct, John lunged towards Nuada; then he realized he was restrained in another's arms. He looked up to a red, rugged face: it was Hellboy.

" _What -_ I thought I told you not to follow me," John grumbled through the fading haze.

"I was never very good at following orders," Hellboy replied gravely.

“Get away from him!” Krauss shouted, referring to Nuada. Hellboy yanked John back while Abe backed away as well, along with Liz, who had, apparently, also appeared while John was unconscious.

“Let me go to him!" John protested, wrenching half-free of Hellboy's grasp. 

“ _You,_ ” Nuada gasped, awake. “John Myers...” His eyes were big, swirling black, one hand reaching up towards John, whose mouth was shaking with a disbelieving smile. Then Nuada's hand snagged violently into John's shirt, tearing him down as Nuada bared his teeth, hissed; “ _I refuse you._ ”

John gaped, his vision filled by those tormented, unhinged eyes. Had they not both seen the same memory? Was Nuada not as amazed as John was to discover that they were ineffably _linked_?

Finally, John choked, “Why?”

As Krauss attempted to near Nuada with a stun gun of some kind, Nuada lurched out of Krauss' aim, swinging a kick up and knocking Krauss back. As Abe yelped behind him, John's gaze seemed to track Nuada in slow-motion, emotion falling, leaving his face blank. Nuada whipped around and tore out of the room, fleeing into the underground city without another look back. John watched the corridor where he had disappeared, sounds and shapes around him blurring together, settling into a static drone in his ears.

He had been stupid, plain _stupid_ , to believe there was a chance for him, for any Human, in Prince Nuada's heart. It had been too apparent the entire time. Nuada had never felt anything for John, after all; it was only a manufactured bond that made Nuada need him. Now that it had been spelled out for the both of them, that John was _meant_ for Nuada - Nuada had made his decision. He could not accept John. He would accept even Death over John.

John squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering; but _that_ sounded so _stupid!_ Was Nuada so wrapped up in himself, in his Elf pride, that he would throw away the wellbeing of himself _and_ his race, over an irrational hatred?

"I'm going after him," said Liz, her fists clenching.

When John's eyes snapped open, it was with a renewed sense of purpose. He saw Krauss rushing to the corridor after Liz, carrying weapons. "Hellboy, let me go," he urged.

"Why? So you can get killed? Let Liz and Johann take care of him."

John heaved a sigh and grumbled, "I'm sorry, Hellboy," and then stomped on Hellboy's toes.

"Hey!" Hellboy yelped, grip loosening enough for John to make a sprint for the door.

"Wait, Red," Abe implored, stopping Hellboy from lunging after John.

" _What?_ You're letting him get away!"

"I think it's worth letting John see this through. We can follow, but no interfering. Well, okay, unless someone is getting, killed or - that sort of thing."

Soon, John caught up to Krauss and swiped the net gun from his hand. “ _I'm_ going after him!” he said, grim as he continued sprinting.

As he pursued into the winding city of tunnels, only guessing as to which directions Nuada had taken, a frenzied thought started taking over him; that he was out of his _mind._ Nuada had been nothing but cruel to him since the beginning.

But, no – that was not true. The brick he had presented to John, as silly as it was. The care with which he seemed to regard John, underneath the callous front. The chilling intimacy with which he kept John close, in his hands. His rare, alluring smiles...

John really _was_ out of his mind. He was falling in love with the Elf Prince, and none of it made sense.

A current of icy cold washed through the tunnel and clawed around John, and in the next moment he had surfaced into open, winter air. He plodded out into the snow, panting, catching a glimpse of the black figure that was Nuada, and Liz gaining ground quickly. The sun had disappeared, hidden behind a cloak of dusty clouds, wiping everything out into white. John lurched into it, after Nuada.

  
Once he was in reasonable range, John lifted the gun, struggling to level it with the stumbling, iron Prince. There was a crack as it fired, and the net soared; as Nuada looked over his shoulder, he leapt aside, and the net only caught his foot. It was enough to throw him, to drag him back to earth, sending him rolling in a heap. John had not stopped running; catching up with Liz, he roared as he passed her and came upon Nuada, glimpsing a flash of a snarl twisting Nuada's face before he pounced on top of him.

"John!" Liz gasped, hair whipping her face.

Nuada thrashed under him and John struggled to pin him, snow tossing around them, the two becoming buried in it. There was nothing but their growls and cries of frustration as they tangled, manifestations of long suffering and confusion disintegrating into scattered snowflakes.

Driving his knees into the ruined snow around Nuada's waist, John managed to trap him, his hands holding the Prince's head against the ground. They were both panting, drained, wounded, eyes catching with each other and staying there, intensity crackling.

John fell hopelessly, mad, upon Nuada, smothering his lips with a kiss.

Electric warmth spread like a shockwave through their bodies, in the short moment before Nuada tore his mouth away.

He glared up at John, unmoving, his eyes haunted with an onslaught of emotion, mystified. As John stared back down at him, the steam of their breath coiling between them, he felt the tension ebbing from Nuada's body. Slowly, John slid one hand away from Nuada's face. Keeping him pinned under his gaze, John's frozen fingers found Nuada's, and gingerly nestled into them.


	9. John Myers

Soft, wavering notes of the unyielding Claíomh--his sword--reverberating with light, singing like a flute, cut into his blackened core, on the whim of a heart pounding with the ferocity of horses’ hooves.

It was John Myers, shearing into him, cutting away the iron from his depraved form. As Nuada stared into the vast innocence of his eyes, he realized - John was pouring the purity of his heart into his being. Nuada could feel the grip of death lifting away, returning him to his whole self. As promised, in the memory of his mother.

It was _terrifying._

All Nuada knew of Humans was of their corruption, and yet his own mother had condemned him to a life bound to one. He could not accept this.

But, if he did, he would revive his people. And he would keep this Human, and melt him, and scar him, and be scarred by him, and fall apart into him the same as he would tear him apart - John Myers.

Nuada’s skin had drained of color, became white and fleshy, as John had dutifully proven himself, illuminated him out of the carbon black. John looked down Nuada's body, astonished. “That vision...” He breathed, mouth dry from exertion. _“We_ had," John looked up at Nuada, confirming that they had shared the dream, "sounded an awful lot like a fairy tale told to kids. _The Iron Man._  Your story... uh, our... story... is a legend."

“I… refuse it.” Nuada murmured, voice faded. “I am Death... I am...”

John fell upon Nuada with another kiss, and Nuada's fingers curled around John’s, relenting. "We'll figure that out," John sighed, exhausted, eyes fluttering open to see a pained wince flickering through Nuada’s eyes.

Liz fell into the snow a few feet away, huffing an exasperated breath. "John, I can't believe I'm saying this, but... Whatever you two have," she looked at them both, unsure and almost remorseful, "well... it seems to be working for you. I'm glad you're okay." She looked at John with relief. John smiled crookedly.

Behind them, at the mouth of the mountain, there was shouting that crackled over the snow. John looked anxiously over his shoulder before turning back to Nuada, fervent. "We've got to go back. To tell them... let me explain that you're not, er, evil, anymore." John looked desperately into Nuada's eyes, and Nuada found himself astonished at John's brimming faith in him - was he not bad, simply because he had shown compassion to this single Human?

Nuada pressed against John, who scrambled to his feet while Nuada unfolded. "No," Nuada said, gently, gazing upon his awakened, white skin. "Not yet, John. They will not understand." He looked at John, amber eyes melodious, reserved. "We shall leave, until favor is on our side..." As dismay climbed unimpeded into John's expression, Nuada raised an arm towards him, unfurling his gleaming hand, beckoning. John was hesitating. "Do you not trust me, John?" Nuada said, carefully; then, ever more coaxing: "Do you not trust us?"

John looked back at Liz, who shrugged. "Whatever," she said, virtually giving them her blessing. 

Panic waned into undiluted conviction, and John grasped Prince Nuada's hand. Armed with his rightful strength, Nuada abruptly pulled John into the curve of his body, clasping his arm around him before taking the both of them into a swift escape through glittering shadows.

Darkness surrounded them, but never touched.

Light existed through Prince Nuada once more, carrying the two of them through transcendent doors, metaphysical passages.

His Elvish birthright was restored; power, beauty, destiny.

Prince Nuada did not stop until they had ascended another mountain in the Cascade Range, far from their pursuers' reaches. His body was weary from exertion, but it was a marvelous feeling of his unbound strength. In slowing, John slid from his position as a burden clinging to Nuada's side, his arm having been stretched across his shoulders. He shivered, and the panic had returned to his eyes, though shaded by hope, by love.

Observing the cold seeping far into John's being, Nuada swept around him, taking him into his arms. "We shall not be here long. We will continue, back to your New York City, where I may find peace enough to meditate... to..."

"To figure out what's next?" John fell gratefully into Nuada's embrace, helpless against a smile, despite the chattering teeth. "You know, I have an... an actual bed... back in Antarctica." In the fading evening light, John's eyes were the color of a sunset reflected in a hazy lake, open and clear. "Really, though, uh, I'm... I'm a little worried. Nuada, I... I do have to go back - " Nuada stopped the path of John's concern, capturing his cold-flushed lips in his own, clearing the panic away. He felt John collapsing into him, dissolving.

Nuada had not meant for it to carry on beyond its purpose, the kiss meaning to silence John, to reassure him - but then Nuada found his hands climbing up John's back, fingers threading into his hair, crushing him closer. A powerful, enticing warmth spread through him, seizing him with soft heat. John sighed against Nuada's mouth, and Nuada allowed him a short breath before kissing him again. Then his hand traveled down John's neck, edging open the buttons of John's coat.

John shivered, forcing a breath under Nuada's persistent lips. "N- Nuada," His voice trembled with cold. "I'm... freezing..." He said, apologetic.

Eyelids heavy, Nuada looked upon him with benevolence, sliding his fingers over John's cherry-red cheek. "Then we shall find you somewhere warm."

Prismatic night was chasing after the horizon by the time Nuada and John had found a thumbprint of a cave and had it lit with a capricious fire. The smooth curves of John's skin were warm between that and Nuada's caress as the coat was gingerly shed and laid upon the ground.

Nuada pressed him down with kisses, insatiable by only John's mouth; his onyx-black lips trailed across his jaw, frost melting, then dove down his neck to where warmth had collected under the collar of his sweater. John shuddered, afflicted with sensations of hot and cold, a sense of good and bad. His hands hovered at Nuada's waist, as dithering as his breath. But Nuada's touches were alluring, convincing; one hand climbed gently up his chest, under his sweater, the other sweet and longing on his face.

John tugged at the band of Nuada's pants, finding courage to slip fingers underneath, to taste hot skin. Already he could scarcely breathe, and before John could emerge from drowning in the reality of what was happening, Nuada had submerged him with another kiss, one that did not relent until Nuada was pulling John's sweater over his head. There was a scrambling of hands, growing steadily more fervent, as clothes were removed and landed in various places on the ground. Nuada's mouth had to sample every inch of John's body, while John dissolved underneath him, as helpless as Nuada was to him. Soon all timidity was squandered, in favor of grasping sinewy curves, exploring the chemistry of their tongues, forming to each others' shapes. Nuada's thighs surrounded John's, and his fluid, shimmering hair fell in folds over John's chest, shifting with the current of Nuada's vehement kisses.

Consumed in each other, the rest of the world nonexistent, they fell into a tangle of needy, dauntless passion.

 


	10. Epilogue

"Nuada, this _is not_ _cool!_ " John was standing between Nuada and the gates that would allow him to exit the base of the BPRD. He had barely had time to throw on a coat against the arctic wind, and now he was shivering with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. "You don't just _leave_ without saying anything!"

“Conspiring the resurrection of the Elf Race, and, in following, the Races of many other Magical Beings, is not what you Humans call a hobby. We must go where we are needed, where the wind calls, and Time is precious.”

John sighed, exasperated. "All I'm asking is that you talk to me before you go running off. The BPRD doesn't exactly trust you yet, either; Liz already had to fight tooth and nail to convince them not to fire me, and I still got duty filing paperwork for the next decade... Hey, _hey!_ " Nuada had started past him again, and John threw his hands up to splay them over Nuada's chest. "Are you even _listening_ _?_ "

Nuada curled his arms around John, dragging him in against him, blanketing his lips in the warmth of a kiss.

John moaned, only in slight protest, before Nuada breathed against his mouth; "I will return, John."

Flushed, John took a moment to recover as the arms slid out from around him. "What - ? Seriously, Nuada?"

A voice boomed from the other side of the gates; "HEY!" John looked over his shoulder, squinting through the swirl of snow to make out a vague, brawny figure - Hellboy. " _John!_ " The cheerfulness quickly dissipated as Hellboy shifted his gaze to Nuada, a frown taking over his face. "Hey, _you,_ Your Highness, Prince Romeo! I got a bone to pick with you!"

"Hellboy, what are you _doing_?" John sighed, then looked up with mortification as he felt Nuada slipping away; John grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip.

"Demon. You must accept that John's heart belongs to me." Nuada announced, grim.

"Oh, yeah, Romeo is definitely a good name for you, got the cheesy lines and everything. I see right through your sudden-change-of-heart gimmick, so let go of my buddy ya bastard!" Hellboy growled, and in one giant leap flew over the gates, landed in a spray of snow and marched towards them. "Or I'll give ya another taste of the whippin' you got back in Ireland."

"Jesus, never thought I'd have _two_ supernatural boys fighting over me..." John muttered, face red.

"John. I have decided, I will stay with you." Nuada said, keeping his eyes on Hellboy.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure that doesn't have anything to do with Hellboy being here, does it?" John replied sarcastically.

"He's  _scared_ of me," Hellboy chuckled. "'Fraid I'm gonna steal ya. Ain't that right, Romeo?" 

"John, let us go back inside. I'm sure the security agents will take care of this pest for us." Nuada held onto John's hand as he started back towards the main building; John was slightly stunted in surprise that Nuada was no longer trying to leave, thanks to Hellboy.

"Hey, if they let a snot-nosed, Golden-Army-resurrecting bastard like you in, they gotta let me in!" Hellboy said, traipsing after them through the snow. "C'mon, John, you can vouch for me, eh? I came all the way out here to see you!"

John frowned to himself, slightly, as he found himself caught between the two mythical beings. He wondered if this was what his life had come to, now; if this was what he was asking for by developing a habit of falling in love with magical creatures. 

He had to admit - he wasn't entirely disappointed.

 

 

 


	11. Goodies

This is a playlist we put together and listened to while writing this story :)

 

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLipajpopGOYEdvInEV_6UK0S4AFqOwbI1

 

* * *

Draw!

John and Nuada

John and HB, not a particular scene or anythin

* * *

Outtakes!

**The Meat Shield**

“No, Liz, he’s lost a good deal of his power. That’s one of the reasons he has me around. I think he doesn’t think he can protect himself.”

“And you can?” Liz asked skeptically.

“Well, no,” John admitted weakly. “But I can be used as a human meat shield, probably.”  
“Right.” Liz agreed darkly.

-

**He Will Not Be Convinced**

Nuada held John’s stubborn gaze for a moment, and then looked away. “I have much to consider. But what you say will not undo the harm the Humans have caused. That must be avenged.”

“Why, Nuada?”  
“YOU WILL NOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE.”

-

**Abe's Boyfriend**

“FISCHBOY!” A voice, thick with a German accent, called from another room. “Are your friends staying for dinner? I only made enough Spaetzle for two - vell, sree, because you eat so much, it is such a vonder to me you are not obese,” The voice dissolved into a laugh that sounded like it was rasping through a sewer grate. “So vill zey be alright eating ze cat food?”

“Oh, excuse me,” Abe said, hasty with embarrassment. “I believe that is my signal to go in. Good luck.” Behind-the-scenes Abe and Kroenen kissing and etc

-

**Notes on John and Hellboy's Relationship**

[short-lived relation w/ hellboy. Didn't get past kissing they didn't even really talk about it or know what it was, just all happened in moments. Like they would end up kissing and maybe like "… um ok i gotta like… go do this thing… see u later?" And then they’d both leave not sure if it would happen again, maybe questioning what it was although I think hellboy would be like um that was awesome??? And then it would somehow happen again. And then maybe when they finally talked about it that was when john left because hellboy was with liz and stuff.}

**-**

**How Do Treat Burn ?**

“Huh -?” John blinked at Nuada, realizing he was not going to move until John took care of his arm. He groaned, “Okay. Alright. Look, I’ll just… go get some ice. Okay?” Heavy, he rolled off of the bed, looking around, dazed and red-eyed. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” He lifted his gaze to Nuada’s, sincere, before sliding on his shoes and dragging his feet out of the room. **  
** {{ice is not a good thing to put on burns}}

**And that was that scene being trashed.**

**-**

**Hellboy's Reaction to Nuada**

“He-- _Hellboy?_ ” John gaped. “How did you--what are you-- _metal head?_ ” Nuada. “You saw… How long have you been following me?” In a matter of seconds, John felt the full range of emotion between surprise, confusion, and finally, accusation. He regained himself, faltering once as he straightened, leering at Hellboy.

  
“Long enough to see that your new friend has got some serious eczema. What happened to _him?_   Nuada not used to the weather in California or something?”

“Look, I don’t need your help, Hellboy. I’m fine.” John said defiantly. He tried to step past Hellboy, knowing the attempt was futile. Hellboy wrapped his arm around John, catching him from getting any further.

  
“Metal skin, huh? That do it for ya?”

**-**

**If Abe and Hellboy Were Roommates**

“John Myers, he is a rarity in the human race. The man is indeed pure of heart.”

Regarding him with skepticism, Nuada shifted slightly back, defensive. “Impossible. There is no way you would know that simply by looking.”

“I don’t know it by looking. I know it by touch,” Abe’s fingers swayed elegantly in procession. “And… I know that there is something you have not told him.” Politely, his fingers curled into his palm, as Nuada regarded it then as a threat. “It’s okay. But I do implore that you be honest.”

John came back from the toilet.

“John, why don’t you stay a little while, have some tea? Red should be here, soon. He went into town to purchase beer. He said groceries, but I believe we both know what he meant.”

“Hellboy? He’s here? Oh no, no we better get going. Now.”

“What’s the matter John?”

“Oh- uh, come on, Abe, you know he will lose it if he sees Prince Nuada. Really appreciate the offer, I’ll - I’ll call you.”

bye

**-**

**Hellboy and Nuada Share Thoughts on John**

“Looks like you’ve got your own Professor Broom,” Hellboy said softly.

Nuada and John both looked quizzically at him. “‘Professor Broom’?” asked Nuada.

“Professor Broom was the man who found Hellboy as a child. He raised him,” John answered.

“He was the reason I help humans. He is the reason.” Hellboy said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. “Looks like you found yours.”

Nuada’s eyes widened as he considered this very un-Elfish development. He turned slowly to look at John, who seemed to have made the conclusion already. “I do not feel any incident towards the Humans as a Race…” Nuada explained out loud, “but if it means protecting you… It means protecting myself.” Nuada gently scooped John’s hand into his and raised it, touching the pale back of John’s hand to his forehead. “It means protecting that which I deeply love. More than my own species…” Nuada gasped at the revelation he had come to in spite of himself, despite all he had worked towards for most of his life. The survival of the Elves now faded as his motive, secondary to this emotion that had been blooming inside of him, unlike anything he had ever felt, even with Nuala.

Hellboy nodded reluctantly, knowingly. “Yee-up…” he sighed.

“Humans are… so helpless, so fragile, and yet, so _detrimental_ to all we are made of,” Nuada said, speaking to Hellboy. “How can we be motivated so? What is it about the humans that can do this to you? To _me_?”

Hellboy took the opportunity to stick a fat, plentiful cigar in his mouth. He lit it with one of the few lighters he had strewn about his pockets, then inhaled deeply, dragging the cigar from his mouth and drawing a faint line of smoke that seemed to permanently stain the air as it hovered there. “Beats me.”

 **  
** John felt oddly objectified as they spoke of humans in this way, but comforted that at least they were accepting of their desire to keep him intact, and not trying to convince themselves otherwise. He shuffled his feet and kept his shoulders tight as if he were trying to make himself as invisible as possible while standing alone in the center of a stage before an audience of strangers. Nuada turned to John. “Do I now call you Professor Broom?”


End file.
